Luke-isms

When I started feeling poorly last week I assumed I was dealing with the same virus Luke had been battling, so I put off going to the doctor at all. A few days later he was a lot better and I was not. When Friday rolled around I knew it was time to give in.

I’m such an attentive mother that when we got out of the car at my doctor’s office I was surprised to see Luke wearing pajama pants and one of my headbands. I felt badly enough that it barely registered on my care-ometer. However, the look on my face must have said enough because he immediately offered, “It keeps my hair out of my eyes.”

When we walked into the office there was one other person in the waiting room. Luke couldn’t handle the silence.

“So my name is Wucas, also known as Wuke. This is my Mom. She’s name is Wori. She has a sore froat and diarrhea, so that’s pretty gross.”

I went from wanting to die, to wondering if I already had and gone to hell. Luke was quickly given a blue raspberry Slush Puppy from the receptionist, so that kept him quiet for a little while. By the way, if your doctor’s office doesn’t have a free Slush Puppy machine, then you need to change providers.

An Update From Your Friendly Neighborhood Martyr

You’ll be happy to know that Luke is feeling better from the viral torticollis he developed over the weekend. If you haven’t read about it yet, then grab some Kleenex. It’s a real tear jerker. 

It wasn’t enough that I had to relinquish my Tempur-Pedic neck pillow to him, but he added insult to injury when he asked me today, “Am I your favorite grandson?” and “Back when you were a kid did people drink chicken juice?”

I answered, “No,” to both. 

What a punk. He’s going to have to learn NOT to insult the person in charge of giving him neck massages.

Ways To Pass Time When You’re Stuck Indoors

Luke (4-1/2) and I have the crud. I don’t think it’s full blown, or as bad as others have had it, but he can’t stop coughing and I have a jackhammer in my head. Also, it snowed last night. < Throws pretend confetti in the air.> Yea. It was just a dusting, but enough for schools to close. So while others are posting their Facebook pictures of six inch snow men, we’re stuck inside enjoying each other’s company. (Read: trying not to kill each other)

If anyone else is lucky enough to be in the same predicament let me offer some suggestions of things to pass the time.

How My Son Was Almost Assaulted- A story of woes

The living room was littered with toys and empty bottles of Gatorade. It was still early, and the night before had been a long one. What had been the first night of my husband’s weekly travel started off like any other- dinner with my son followed by a bath and bedtime. However, at approximately one-thirty in the morning I received a summons to Luke’s bedroom. I’ll spare you the details, but a full-on stomach virus had just dirty bombed Wescott Manor.

By the time I had Luke showered and back in bed with fresh sheets it was almost 3:00 AM. Again, two hours later I was awakened by the pitter-pat of little feet as they scurried down the hall and to the bathroom. Lather, rinse, repeat. By mid-morning we were both tired of staring at each other and I began to ponder what I could feed this sick child of mine whom I love more than life itself.

That’s when he said it. For no apparent reason he simply stretched his arms over his head, yawned and said, “I wish I had come out of Daddy’s tummy and not yours.” I quickly scanned the room and realized that there was no one to hold me back. “Keep it together,” I told myself. “He’s just a sick four-year-old and you’re a tired thirty-” (The voice trailed off). So what if I risked my pelvic floor the day he was born? The point is that I’m the adult in this situation, and I do NOT have another kid to fall back on if something happens to this one. So I swallowed my pride, pulled up my proverbial big girl boxer briefs, and fixed his lunch while barely muttering, “So do I, son. So do I.”

Navy Seals have a saying, “The only easy day was yesterday.” That’s why I’m not a Navy Seal. I was totally on board with it until I heard that quote. The fact is this, if I lived my life thinking “Well, today was a bitch, but wait til you see tomorrow,” then I would probably be a cutter. Tomorrow will be better. It WILL. Now, I think I’ll go fast-rope out of a Chinook helicopter onto the top of a liquor store. Peace.

The offender can be seen here, on the left, cheating at a game of
Hungry, Hungry Hippos with his left hand full of white marbles.
I played that game as a kid, and come to find out, those hippos are still hungry today.
Somebody really should call PETA.  

Meet Joyce

Last week the Wescotts were stricken with illness. Brantley and I had strep throat while Luke battled a double ear infection. After a couple of days, Brantley went back to work while I struggled to take care of Luke and myself. Frustrated, sick and exhausted I did the only thing left to do. I picked up the phone and called my mom.

Ladies and gentleman, meet Joyce. She’s an amazing wife and mother who loves grandbabies like a crack head loves an eight ball. Her two biggest fears are chickens and quicksand, and she knows all the words to the Hillshire Farms meat song. With the ability to turn anything into a song, you should hear her rendition of, “please take the trash out to the street, honey,” to the tune of “What ya Gonna do When the Well Runs Dry?” She would give away her last dime and if you ever catch her topless, cut her some slack. She most likely just gave someone the shirt off her back.

By trade, my mom is a reading coach at a public school in Alabama. She has lots of students and lots of responsibilities, but within minutes of my phone call she had pushed everything aside, put her life on hold, and was headed to Tennessee.

As soon as she arrived she was doing our laundry, walking our dog, and cooking our meth. She was a saint sent to save me from my own demise. I’ve always been thankful for her, but there was something about this act of selfless maternal heroism that left me full of something and this time, instead of crap, it was pride and inspiration. I hope to one day return the favor.

My mom is a special and unique lady. She definitely can’t hold her wine and she sometimes laughs until she pees, but I wouldn’t have her any other way. To the students who missed her last week while she took care of us, I say get over it. She’s my mom. Get your own.

Mad Cow Disease

Luke became ill this past Sunday. I checked his temperature and found it to be 104.8 degrees. We gave him some Tylenol, Motrin, put him in a cool bath, and called his pediatrician. The office was closed so I left a message with the answering service. No one in our family has ever gotten sick on a weekday.

After talking to his doctor, she reassured us that we were doing everything right. She told us to keep her posted with any changes and to bring him to the office first thing Monday morning.
Upon examining him the next morning, the doctor diagnosed him with “Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease.”

HFMD is a very contagious virus that results in a high fever, rash and blisters in the mouth and throat, as well as on the hands and feet. I asked the doctor to take a look at my throat and was not surprised to hear that I had the same characteristic blisters as Luke. Gross.

We were given our marching orders and went on our way armed with, nothing actually, because with many viruses, there is nothing to do but wait. Not thrilled about beginning our weeklong quarantine, I decided to pass the time by chronicling our adventure.

Note: I have found the name of our diagnosis a bit cumbersome so I have taken to calling it “Mad Cow Disease”. It’s more fun to say.
Mad Cow – Day 1

Luke is crabby and so am I.
We arrive home from doctor after hitting a drive thru for some lunch. I realize we are out of ketchup and almost cry. Neighbor, Molly, recognizes my sadness with her speidey sense and brings me said ketchup. Thanks, Molly.

Later, while I’m cooking dinner Luke opens the pantry door and rips off a shelf label. “What? Where’s your Dad going to put chips/crackers/snacks now Luke?!” Having just snapped at my one year old for wrecking my OCD, I place myself in time out.

Brantley gets home from work early and saves the day. He brings magic mouthwash for my sore throat. How nice, but what’s so magic about it? I take a swig. Abra cadabra, it tastes like crap.

Mad Cow – Day 2

It’s been almost twenty four hours since our solitary confinement began and I’m starting to crack under the pressure of cabin fever. I tell Brantley that I am well enough for a quick trip to the grocery store.
I go to Publix, where shopping really is a pleasure. I lick all the produce, cough on the sushi, get diarrhea and drive home. Mission accomplished…not really.

I attempt to cook supper but tire out during the making of a meatloaf. The phone rings. It’s Carrie and she has cooked supper for us. She makes comfort food and Luke eats a whole meal for the first time in three days. He belches in my face and laughs. Good times.

Mad Cow – Day 3

Brantley is off all day. Hooray! But, unfortunately he’s tired. He apparently sat on a stool too long and read too many Us Weekly’s yesterday at work. Now I’m being mean. It’s the Mad Cow Disease talking.

I take a Sharpie and scribble over “good” on my “Life is Good” t-shirt, replacing it with, “kinda crappy.” Brantley sees me taking a couple of unnecessary whiffs of the marker and gives me a dirty look. “I was just scratching my nose with it.” I tell him. I stomp off to the couch with marker on my nose. Time for a nap.

What will tomorrow bring?? Only time will tell.