Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Maybe he was trying to erase bad memories??

So, the Asthma Monster arrived with the ragweed pollen, and I'm ... not doing as badly as say... last year, but I'm still not a happy camper. After I got the kids off to school, I took my meds and pretty much passed out in bed till 1, then got up and groggily decided lunch wasn't happening for me and stared at the computer for a bit. Then I thought shower might help matters, and was in the process of getting in when... the phone rang. And at first, I was going to ignore it, thinking, "Oh, if it's important, they'll call back..."

But you know, there's this thing called "Mom Radar," and I just knew...

So, I answered it and... it's the nurse from the Impossible Son's school. And my first thought was, "Dammit, he's got a fever... I knew I should have kept him home when he said his throat was sore!"

But nooooo... now, y'all just know it's not going to be that simple for Auntie... right?

"Mrs. J? Yes, I have Mr. Impossible here in my office, and it seems he's been stuffing erasers up his nose."

O_o... wtf???

"Erasers? Up his nose?" I said intelligently.

"Yes. I got most of it out, but his little nose is so swollen, I can't be sure there isn't more still in there..."

"Erasers?? Up his nose??" I said, apparently still stuck in first gear.

"Yes. You're going to have to take him to the doctor or the clinic..."

"Erasers?? Up his nose??"

Gobsmacked does not even come close to covering it.

So, I got dressed (yes, I talked to the school nurse on the phone NAKED) and called the family doctor. "No, we don't have any openings today, we're full up," the nurse said. Great, I thought. That means the so-called "urgent care clinic," in our town, which closes at 5 p.m. It's less an urgent care clinic, though, and more of a... well... let's put it this way... if your problem is urgent... you're better off going to the emergency room, because you aren't getting in to see so much as a nurse for at least two hours. So, I called the Husbandly One to let him know what was going on... and went straight to voice mail. I waited a couple of minutes, called again... and straight to voice mail. Fuck this, I thought, and called the office landline.

It was disconnected.

Wonderful, I thought, greatly frustrated. And decided to move on.

I went to pick up the little miscreant fezart eraser-up-the-nose-stuffing poor little guy, and found a rather embarrassed son standing in the nurse's office. The nurse pulled out a small bag with crumbled bits of eraser in it, and my stomach dropped. Now, when the nurse had said "eraser," I thought she meant either the ubiquitous big pink eraser that has haunted primary school since time immemorial or those funny wedge shaped ones you put on top of the pencil when the built in eraser wears out.

But no, not even close.

It was... an art gum eraser!! The suckiest eraser known to mankind. The eraser that crumbles into bits the moment you touch it to paper. Yeah, THAT one.

Could he have picked a worse type of eraser to stuff up his nose or what?

"Where did you get this?" I asked, staring at it. "I didn't give you art gum erasers!"

"From the teacher," he said, shrugging.

I checked him out, and of course, I could not help asking The Question. You know the one I mean. The one parents have asked every time one of their kids does something so ridiculous and just plain weird, and just want to understand why??

"Why did you stuff eraser bits up your nose?"

He blinked and gave The Answer kids have always given their parents when they do something ridiculous and just plain weird. Shrug. "I don't know."

Because really, he doesn't. He has no idea, none at all. It just... seemed like the thing to do. He borrowed the eraser from the teacher, tried to use it, watched it crumble and suddenly thought, "Hey, you know, those are just the right size to fit up my nose." Or maybe he thought, "You know, those crumbly bits look just like nasty, dried up boogers. Hey, I'll stuff them up my nose and see if I can gross people out!!" Who knows??

Well... the clinic was stuffed to bursting. Literally. The parking lot was packed, there were cars parked up and down the street and there were people waiting outside. People who stood in little groups, hunched in misery, eyes streaming, sneezing and coughing, dabbing at eyes and noses with crumpled tissues...

I took one look at that and thought, "Oh, no, not today." Yeah, THAT'S what we need. The FLU!! I don't think so!

I took my stinker home and made one more call to my doctor. "Is there any way y'all can fit me in? The clinic is stuffed to the gills. Look, I'll sit and wait for the first available second..."

"Let me talk to the doctor," said the receptionist, and then came back with, "I talked to Dr. R, and the PA, and they both said that they don't have the equipment to deal with this, since you said the erasers are up in both nostrils. They said you should take him to the emergency room."

I looked at the Impossible Son, who was dancing to New Found Glory on his iPod. Our E.R. co-pay went up, and I really wasn't looking forward to taking him someplace else where there would be MORE flu-stricken people. The closest urgent care centers to us are in Austin, New Braunfels, and Wimberly. I was not going to drive into Austin at 3:25 p.m.... not unless he was bleeding out his eyeballs. New Braunfels and Wimberly were out, too. And I still couldn't contact THO.

Thinking of THO reminded me that he had surgery three years ago in San Marcos... with an ear, nose, and throat guy who sees all ages. I googled him, called their office, and yes, yes, no problem, bring him on in.

YAY!! So, knowing that the Tall Blonde would pick up the Impertinent One, I took Mr. Manzie in to San Marcos to see Dr. T. who Mr. Manzie just LOVED, and after sticking a tube up that little nose that let him look into Mr. Manzie's sinuses, was able to tell me that the Impossible Son either sneezed the eraser crumbs out, or swallowed them, because his sinuses were clean.

Oh, happy day!!

He then gave Mr. Impossible the "Don't stick anything up your nose or in your ear that's smaller than your elbow," speech, which still cracks me up, because wow, kids always react the same way. The first thing they do is... try to stick their elbows in their ears!! I think doctors do that on purpose, just to see if a kid will do it!

Much relieved, we made our way back home, and then to the Tall Blonde's house to pick up the daughter.

The Husbandly One called not long after I'd arrived. "Where are you?" he asked, sounding frantic.

Turns out, he turned his phone off, because it needed to be charged and he was saving it in case he needed it while driving. And his company changed their phone numbers, but he never worried about it since he carries his mobile with him all the time. He'll be giving me that new number pretty quick, I think!

All in all, a more adventurous day than I'd anticipated. Ah, the adventure that is parenthood. It's not for sissies, or the faint of heart. And I still haven't gotten my shower!!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


Every once in a while, the pathway between my brain and my mouth short-circuits, and gives my family fuel for entertainment for months, possibly years to come.

There was an open house at the Impossible Son's school this evening, and afterwards, we went to the grocery store to pick up a few things. It was on the way home from the grocery store that the discussion turned to Halloween and costumes. The Impossible Son asked me if I was going to dress up this year. "I dunno," I said tiredly, because I've got the Migraine of Doom. "What do you want me to go as?"

"I don't know," he said. "What do you want to go as?"

I wasn't in the mood to ride on that particular merry-go-round, so I sighed and said, "Maybe I'll just go as a hippie."

"No, I don't like that," he said and you could just hear the frown in his voice. "I don't want you to go as a hippy, Mom."

Great. "Okay, how 'bout I go as Molly Weasley?" I said. That shouldn't be too hard, right? I mean, she's a mom, I'm a mom, I just have to dress eccentrically and carry a wooden spoon and look harried. In other words, just... dress and look normal, and maybe a poofy red wig or something. And add a British accent.

"That would be AWESOME!!" said Mr. Impossible. "Do it! Do it! And Papa can be Mr. Weasley!"

I looked over at my husband and his tattoos and said, "Um, no, maybe he should be Charlie..."

"No!" said the Impossible Son. "I'm going to be Charlie Weasley!"

The Impertinent Daughter snorted at this, but didn't say anything.

"Okay," I said, willing to go along with this, and thinking about what pens I could use to draw "tattoos" on his arms. "You can carry your toy dragon under your arm, too, and when you go up to people's porches, you can say, look! I'm handling my dragon!"

The moment that popped out of my mouth, I knew, instinctively, that I had Dropped A Brick. There was shocked silence in the van for about... oh... I'd say about maybe 9 nano-seconds that lasted approximately two thousand years... and then they all died laughing.

"MOM!!!" said my daughter, trying to sound outraged while nearly suffocating herself laughing. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU SAID THAT!!!"

"Wow, honey," said the Husbandly One, snorting and guffawing, "that's... wow! That's way beyond your usual!"

"What?" said the Impossible Son, lost for about ten seconds, and then, "OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!! MOM!!! GEEZ!!! That's just... WRONG!!!"

See? Even with a migraine, I'm pretty damn entertaining... most especially when I don't mean to be!!

I'm sure my face will stop burning at some point. And I hope they will let me live it down sometime before I'm eighty!

*goes to hide*