Triple Scoop

Three delectable bite-sized posts.  Well, kind of bite-sized.  If you have a big appetite.

1. I may be solely responsible for the superbacteria phenomenon.

Many of you think I am organized.  After all, I have all those charts and schedules and semi-compulsive planning habits.  I don’t know how to break this softly, but they are an illusion.  A mirage.  I have and do all those things BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE A BRAIN.  I’m forgetful, scatterbrained, often unfocused and usually off-schedule.

SO. I am entirely incapable of following the instructions on the prescription bottles.  When the paperwork says, “Administer this antibiotic twice a day for ten days and MAKE SURE YOU FINISH THE WHOLE TEN DAYS or you shall be thrown into a pit of lions who have communicable diseases,”  it might as well say, “Every time you give this medicine, make sure you catch two electric eels and harvest their organs.”  It’s THAT hard.  I forget at least one dose a day.  Then after about 4 or 5 days, when the kid is better, I forget they’re even supposed to take it.  Then I remember a couple days later and give them one or two doses that should hold them over until I remember again.  (Just last week, I took all but 5 Amoxicillan pills for my own strep throat.  Then I forgot to pack them for my Disney trip. So about 10 days later when I could feel a sinus infection coming on, I started retaking my last five pills.  Now they’re gone.)  I KNOW.  I totally agree there’s something wrong with me, and that is why I’m apologizing for making the world unresponsive to antibiotics by using them incorrectly.  (As a side note to calm any rage you might be feeling –especially if you have a medical background– I looked up some multi-alarm timers online yesterday that old people use to help them remember to take their pills.  Yes, it’s come to that.)

2. What did you call me?

I have never been a terms-of-endearment girl.  Even as a wide-eyed single adult, I hated hearing couples calling each other “sweetie” and “honey” and don’t even get me started on names like “peaches” or things that end in “-poo”.  Seriously?  I’ve softened up over the years and use some of these with my children, especially the -poo ones if I really want to get their eyes rolling.  But Matt has always been Matt.  And I’ve always been Steph.  And I’m TOTALLY fine with that.  However, lately –and I don’t know if this has to do with his new light-hearted look on life since he graduated from law school– he’s started calling me “Momma,” or “Mama,” but really does the spelling matter?  Um, what?  Since most of my readers are women, I don’t really need to get into why this might be an unwanted nickname.  So, I gently broke him the news the other night when he said something like, “Hey, Momma, you wanna bring up my cell phone charger when you come upstairs?”

I tried to make him understand that his little pet name made me feel like this:

or 

So he wants to know what he should call me.  I guess Steph is getting old.  I told him I’d blog about it and ask my wise readers.  If you suggest anything with -poo in it, you’re henceforth banned from my blog.

3. P90X and the family effect

After 3 1/2 years of work by day and law school by night, Matt put on a few pounds.  Now he’s determined to get them off and bought that P90X system, which is an intense 90-day workout plan accompanied by nutritional advice.  So in an effort to be supportive, I went and bought all the ridiculous groceries on his list (soy sausage patties?  Really?) and we’re all trying to eat more healthy.  One night we had chicken breast with honey chile sauce and mixed vegetables.  Last night was island pork tenderloin with baked asparagus.  Well, I think the whole program will have quite a transformation in our family since our children won’t eat ANY of it.  I think P90X should use this picture on their next before-and-after ad.  What do you think?

Before: 

After:

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Ode to winter (time for a poetry contest), and a teensy bit of whining

I will now relate to you just a few of the events in our family in the last 48 hours.  Pretend you care.

Coughing

Snot

Fever

Waking at night

Lab visit

Strep Test

Antibiotic

Urinalysis

Another Strep test

Carbon Monoxide alarm going off

Evacuate house for hour

No notable danger

More fever

Bubble Gum Motrin

Bubble Gum Yum Tylenol

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Doctor visit

Blood test

Chest x-rays

Stomach x-rays

H1N1 test

Urology referral

Another antibiotic

Make cake

Grant’s birthday

Antibiotic battles

More sore throat

Two peed beds

Doctor visit

Strep test

ANOTHER antibiotic

The end.

Kill me now.

So, out of necessity and the spirit of survival, I will now change the subject.  I think it’s time for the Diapers and Divinity Winter poetry contest.  The winner gets a spotlight on my blog sidebar for the rest of winter AND this lovely crown:

Let’s do an ode this time, shall we?  An ode is “A kind of poem devoted to the praise of a person, animal, or thing. An ode is usually written in an elevated style and often expresses deep feeling. An example is “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” by John Keats.”  (Thanks, dictionary.com.)  We’ll be much less formal here, and modify the ode rules.  Pick something or someone to praise (Anything related to winter) and write a poem about or to it/him/her.  Can rhyme, doesn’t have to.  Can be serious or sarcastic.

I’ll cough up two here as examples:

Ode to my fireplace

In the midst of painful winter, wise birds have flown away.

Yet, we foolishly remain.

Thou art my only consolation.

Thy gentle warm breezes and intoxicating flames dance about,

and I rest by your side.  Waiting, Waiting.

Come Spring I’ll bid thee farewell.

Or given my current list of whining:

Ode to Antibiotics (Did I say I was going to change the subject?)

(in the form of a limerick.)

Winter affects us a lot.
There’s pressure, and coughing, and snot.
Write the doctor some checks.
Go pick up the Rx.
Enjoy 10 healthy days that you’ve bought.

My favorite part of antibiotics is “Take with food.”  I’m pretty sure they mean this:


Can’t wait until my next dose.

We’ll let the contest run for several days.  Leave your poem(s) — as many as you want to write– in the comments on this post by midnight the night of Tues., Jan. 19th.  I’ll pick my favorites and then we’ll vote together on a winner.

I think I need a nap.

Frailty, thy name is Flu.

Puke
Snot
Fever
Sore throat
Cough
Sneezing
Stuffy Nose

That’s been the last few days at our house. Anybody want to come play?

I am not a nice sick person.

I lie in bed and yell out threats that I couldn’t possibly have the energy to carry out. They don’t work. I scare myself when I look in the mirror, so I’m not sure why I don’t scare my children.

Matt stayed home from work today and did the dishes. I’m so glad because I think they were about to grow things. And he gave Natalie a bath after she threw up.  I love him.

I have some serious questions.

1. Do you offer irrational prayers when you are sick? “Heavenly Father, if there’s any way you could make dinner appear on the table, that would be great.”

2.  Does this mean that we probably don’t need to get the flu shot now?