More of the Same

A few mights ago, Mal was eating Doritos right before bedtime. When he was done, it was time to brush his teeth; he complained that a chip was stuck in his tooth. A bit later, when they were done, James told me he couldn't see the chip. Mal said it was still bothering him. My extreme myopia involves not only very weak far-out vision, but extremely clear close-in vision. I pulled Mal into the light to look... and it wasn't a chip. The second of his four metal caps had a hole in it, but unlike the first one, it didn't fall out. It was just sitting open like someone had opened up a tin can by stabbing it repeatedly with a dull knife.

Since it was midnight, I knew we weren't doing anything that night, but he definitely had sharp edges and wouldn't be able to sleep with it like that. So I did something I am not recommending to anyone because it's stupid, but I've done it to myself on my natural teeth and it was pretty effective: I got a glass nail file and started smoothing out the edges. I was able to make some progress, and asked Mal if he could live with it. "No." So I did some more, and also pushed down the part that had pulled back, hoping it might rest in the natural valley of the molar. Can you live with it like this? "No." Finally, I asked Mal to bite down. He did, then said, "That was a clean bite!"

Whew!

THEN two days later. he just didn't poop. The next day (yesterday), either. Understand this: Every single day since late May, James and/or I have sat in the restroom with Mal for at least 20 minutes, and up to an hour and a half. Every single day. Reminding him to push. Chatting. Encouraging. Keeping him focused. And this is after his never ever in his life ever just saying, "I need to go poop!" and doing it. We cannot take a mental break from this. We can't give him a day off of trying so hard. We can't stop trying so hard. We simply cannot relax because even with our vigilance, his body just decides to stop moving every few weeks.

Yes, I know some of this might be because he just doesn't know or doesn't pay attention to cues. It might be that he's just immature in that way. But it's such a freaking chore, and it makes me both angry that I have a 6-year-old who has literally never wiped himself, and also in complete awe of parents who have kids with actual chronic health issues.

We don't want him to end up like this poor Texas kid from a millennium ago, though, so on we plod. He still gets Mirilax every day. When the flow starts winding down, I move to PediaLax (the Equate brand is NOT watermelon-flavored, though it purports to be; Mal says it's mint and he can barely down it... it's just as effective, though, and it's all that Walmart had, so... sigh). We've learned that 2 PediaLax twice over a 24-hour period seems to work pretty effectively. ExLax doesn't do a dang thing, though he enjoys taking them. Well, it does give him a stomach ache. No positive results, though. And I'm trying to avoid the magnesium citrate, which he's now taken FOUR TIMES this year. That's gotta be rough on the old GI tract.

I've mentioned this, but I'll reiterate: So many things are SO DIFFICULT with Mal. Why are his teeth crap? And why then did we choose a dentist whose work is crap? And why can't he just crap? CRAP.

That said, the other day we came in from an errand and Mal was chatting with me. It took me back to not too long ago, when every time we came in from a trip out, Mal was in tears because he just did not deal well with transitions. I'd picture our peaceful home, D enjoying having the bedroom door open and James napping or working quietly... then this aural storm taking over. Every single time. 

I'm trying to remember that a lot of the hard things we dealt with early on that have improved over time. Surely this stuff will, too? 

Anyway, here's a really cute picture of this really awesome little kid... 

Wading Through Sludge

Last week, everything just felt hard.

Getting Mal to take his fiber gummies... hard. Getting Mal to brush his teeth in the morning... hard. Getting Mal to sit on the toilet a few times a day... hard. Getting Mal to go outside... hard. Keeping up with the cooking and cleaning while we're all in this space 24/7... hard. Keeping up with groceries and supplies and Amazon orders... hard. Remembering to put Miralax in everything Mal was drinking... hard.

It was just slow and heavy, and I was tired. I'm still a little tired, but I have changed things up just a tiny bit this week.

First, I ditched the fiber supplements and am looking for new ones. I ate them and they're not terrible; I'll probably finish them. They do have a "chicory root" aftertaste, but that's because... they're made out of chicory root.

Second, James has a 4-day weekend coming up, and just having something different to look forward to is helping.

Third, I am over the hump of trying to cut down on both caffeine and, mostly, caramel color (for my own reasons; you do you, love), so my personality has mostly returned, and I think I feel slightly more human than I did last week.

Now... has Mal made any progress on the gastro-internal health front? That would be a big old "not really." Somehow, even though we've had him on Miralax for a week and a half, I've given him Activia and sugar-free chocolate, he has seriously upped his fiber, and it's likely that everything in him is totally liquid now (we had a couple of eye-opening and nose-pinching incidents over the weekend that required much cleaning and erasing of memories), he WILL NOT POOP.

Today, I was trying to have him sit on the toilet every time his stomach growled. The second time, he just refused. I told him that he will never get better, never heal his muscle tone, never be able to feel when he actually needs to go, if we don't first get him empty so he can recover. He cried and told he he'd sit on the toilet tomorrow. I picked him up, as I often do, and carried him in there. But he's just over 50 pounds and my left thumb is messed up. When he struggles, it's like he weighs 150 pounds.

He was trying to run away from me, to get out of the bathroom. He was crying and complaining. I felt myself getting VERY angry, so I just sat him in the floor of the restroom and walked away. He ended up giving up, "Fine! I'll go!" and sat down. He did not go, though.

Everything I've read says not to make this kind of thing traumatizing for the child, not to get emotional, to make it fun. But it doesn't say what to do if your child is content never to go into the bathroom except to pee, and no amount of offering to read, let him play a game on his computer, chat, tell stories, play games, have a counting contest, etc. can convince him. He's already traumatized, and I'm worried that if we have to seek further, more invasive, medical intervention, it will be even worse. I'm trying to stay patient and stay the course, even as I see his distended belly and feel how rock-hard it is.

Anyway, here's Mal. He's precious. And he's a lot. I love him, and I wish I could say that I wouldn't change anything about him, but I do wish I could painlessly steamroll his abdomen and squeeze him empty like a toothpaste tube.

Welp, That Sucked

Aaand, I think we're back.

We were all on the mend, but then last weekend, I CRASHED hard. I was nauseated, fatigued, and just felt "not right." I mean, it was worse than when I was actually sick.

Mal and I made it to church Sunday, but I had to cradle my head, and when I walked, I felt like my legs were melting out from under me. I was dizzy and exhausted, even though I'd "slept" almost 12 hours. I was sleeping most of the time, actually. I stumbled in the house after church, fell into bed, and slept all day. Mal took a little nap with me. Then we went to bed at like 8. And I never felt rested. Just gross and off and wrong and like I was going to die.

A little research and I think I figured it out: Steroid withdrawal. I was only on them for 5 days, which isn't supposed to require "tapering." But I think my body just stopped producing cortisol, and it took three good days for it to get back up and running. NEVER AGAIN.

So that's two things I'll never do again: 1) Flu "swab"/stab. 2) Oral steroids.

I've had a steroid shot before when I couldn't kick an asthma attack; that's still on the table. But, man, it was NOT worth it to take the pills. Big "no" on that. Do not recommend.

We've spent the week easing back into life. It's weird to have "lost" so much time. I don't like it. Plus, it was really overcast and the air pressure felt too high, though that might have just been a residual headache from the meds.

I think we're back to 100%. I hope so. I rarely get sick, and this was not a nice, quiet way to while away a quarter of a month.

Now I'm trying to get our taxes done so we can pay off our solar panels. The life of a home-owner is super glamorous (read: expensive).

The houses on both corners around us are almost complete, and I'm looking forward to it being quiet around here again. Also looking forward to the tax assessment this year, because so many vacant lots have sold in the past 12 months, we'll have a much easier case arguing that our lots are worth about 3/5 the amount the county has assessed the past two years.

More Adventures in Medicine

Friday while I was driving Mal around, I was feeling a bit of stomach unease, and I could tell that a cold sore was trying to crop up. I take acyclovir daily to prevent cold sores, so when one sneaks by, it's a big deal. In the entire year I've taken acyclovir, I haven't had a cold sore make it that far yet. I took a couple of extra doses, then some Lysine, and put Abreva on a few times, and ended up stopping it before it got all the way to the point of no return. And Saturday, I felt mostly normal.

Sunday afternoon, I was starting to think that I wasn't going to escape cedar fever this year, after all. By 8:30, I was beat. I went to bed by 9:30, and James mostly distracted Mal until he was wound down and "ready for bed."

One cool thing that James has been trying to tell you as he's worked on his blog entry about his and Mal's trip to San Antonio -- AT THE BEGINNING OF NOVEMBER -- is that, since they returned, James has been Mal's go-to for the nighttime tooth-brushing routine. It's super sweet, and, of course, I love being out of that loop.

However, after Mal brushes his teeth, he often watches videos for a while before he goes to sleep for the night. Usually, that's okay. But Sunday night, I felt like garbage. Mal kept saying, "I'm going to watch one more video, then I'm going to go to bed." "Okay." After the third round of this, I said, "Mal, you can watch as many videos as you want; I'm trying to sleep so you don't have to tell me."

When he DID go to bed, he managed to plug his iPad in himself, but when he laid down, he was frustrated because I had pulled back both of his blankets and his sheet, and he prefers just the top blanket. He was fussing about it, and kicking the superfluous sheet and blanket down to the foot of the bed, which he often does, even when it's absolutely freezing outside (and super cold inside because we live in a 13-year-old house with crappy insulation and crappier windows).

After he did THAT, he was still fussing, "Next time, the top blanket only! I'm so uncomfortable!" I asked how he was uncomfortable. He said, "I don't know," kick, kick, kick, "I'm just UNCOMFORTABLE!" And I LOST. IT. I sat up and started pulling his other blankets into the floor with way more force than was necessary. I said, "I JUST WANTED TO GO TO SLEEP EARLY BECAUSE I AM SO TIRED!" Then I announced that I was going to pee and left the room.

I guess I "said" this louder than I maybe meant, but probably about as intensely as I felt, because James was in Mal's room when I got back from the bathroom. He'd come in to see if Mal was okay, and I have to tell you... it feels like crap when your baby daddy has to check up on his kid because he's afraid you might have upset or hurt him. This has happened a couple of times since Mal was born, mostly when he was a baby and I was chronically sleep-deprived and on the edge.

Then, also, D asked me the next day, "What happened last night?" So I had to tell her that I had a temper tantrum because I was so exhausted and kept being awakened. By then, I had apologized to both James and Mal. But still. Geez.

Monday, I got up and took a shower with some eucalyptus sinus soothers. After that, I felt like I just needed to spend the day in bed. James is in his last week on his current team at work, and I didn't think asking him to stay home was a great idea (it looks like "senioritis"), so I decided I could make it. Mal got up, and fortunately was an absolute gem.

First, when he woke up, he called to me. I said, "I'm right here." He said, "It's not really you." I asked, "If it's not me, then who am I?" He said, "You just lost control, and then you got sick." I asked James if they'd talked about this, and he said they had not. I told Mal, "Aww, you're so sweet to me." He said, "You're sweet to me, too... And I'm a party blower so I can do anything." Kind AND weird. That's my kid.

I spent most of Monday in the master bedroom, because they were jack-hammering rock to try to make room for the septic tank across the street. In all, it's taken them about two weeks to dig that hole. I'm over it.

As I mentioned, Mal was amazing. He played Number Blocks and with his Sonic characters. I think he was just happy to have me not up and running around, but lying there with him, listening and interacting as much as I could all day. Then he'd run off to watch videos or play a game. I made him some food and tried to sit at the table with him, but needed to get back into bed after a few minutes.

I kept using my albuterol inhaler. Like a lot. And it wasn't working for more than 15 minutes. I have a nebulizer and used that once, also to little avail. I decided to make use of Teladoc, and after an hour or so had a prescription for several things: Tamiflu, an antibiotic, a steroid, and an inhaler than I learned would have cost $600 if I didn't have insurance.

Having kicked around in a stupor most of the day, I tried to get it together to take D to banjo lessons and to pick up my medicine. I was obviously not operating at full capacity, and D said, "We can stay home if you need to." But D missed a lot of classes after surgery, and then during the holidays, so I wanted to make sure we kept the routine up. And I neeeeeded meds.

We successfully made that trip, and I got the kids food from Sonic. I told James he'd need to pick up something on the way home, because I knew I couldn't cook dinner. As it got later, a couple of hours after I'd taken the first doses of everything, I started feeling worse. The uber-expensive inhaler was not helping me breathe. My head was killing me. I was exhausted. I was worried that I'd not be able to breathe during the night, and one thing the Teladoc had told me was that the flu wasn't likely to kill me, but that if I was gasping for air, I needed to get to the E/R.

I texted James and told him that when he got home, I wanted him to take me to the hospital, but within half an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack, so D agreed to hang out with Mal while they waited for James to come home, and then I drove -- in James's car, which was recently pulled over for having a headlight out, which is why James had driven my car to work -- to the hospital.

I'd checked in online, but they were busy. It was quiet, but they didn't have any rooms, so kept sending me back to the waiting room after triage and then an EKG. When I arrived, my pulse/ox was 95, which isn't optimal, but not bad enough that I was going to beat anyone else out for a room. My pulse was 132, and my blood pressure was like 134/72, which is WAY HIGH for me. My temperature was 99.7, and my norm is around 97.5.

I guess the EKG was fine. I didn't see or hear anything about that.

Oh... when I was initially waiting, I felt so nauseated, I sped off to find a restroom. I got into the stall just in time... for a dry heave. I'd eaten a bag of chips, a box of Yoo-Hoo, an apple, and half a corn dog earlier in the day, but had nothing in my stomach at that time. I knew I was supposed to have taken the antibiotic with food, but was feeling so yucky that I could not. So I went to the vending machine and picked the only thing I felt my body could handle: a Snickers bar. Protein and chocolate and some calories. It's better than nothing, right?

Yes, I have a run in my sweats. But I LOVE these sweats and can't find them new anywhere.

So there I was, being triaged while putting away a candy bar. I'm sure the nurse was impressed with my overall health and wellness plan.

By the time I got into a room, my pulse/ox was shifting from as high as 98 to as low as 92. My pulse began to slow, and eventually dipped below 100. And my blood pressure was 168/64 by the time I was released.

The doctor was critical of the Teladoc who had both prescribed Tamiflu without a positive swab for influenza, and also prescribed antibiotics, as well, as they treat the same things. He also told me that Tamiflu reduces flu symptoms by approximately 18 hours, which is the kid of crap that is exactly why I stopped taking antibiotics for my chronic (and now absent for nearly 13 years) tonsillitis. He said that the reason I'd gotten sick in the waiting room is that, ya know, meds you don't need make you sick.

I did test negative for the flu, and I have to tell you: If I had the choice to get another flu swab OR go through the birthing process from when I had Mal but not end up with anything to show for it, I'd rather do birth. That flu "swab" (which would more rightly be called a "painful sinus stab") was easily the most painful medical thing I've ever had done to me. I mean, I will NEVER consent to one again, and I will NEVER EVER consent to Mal's having one. He would never leave the house again. We can just operate under the assumption that we do not have the flu because even if we do, I'm not taking useless meds when we'll just get over it anyway.

After three hours, a couple of chest x-rays, some blood work the results to which I guess I'll get later, spilling my Route 44 Diet Coke all under the E/R private room bed, and who knows how much out-of-pocket expenses, I was discharged with an "unspecified bug" (disappointingly referred to as an upper respiratory infection, AKA "the common cold" in my paperwork), and instructions to ditch the Tamiflu and antibiotic, but stick with the steroid.

I tried to clean up, but I was attached to machines, and throwing paper towels on the floor spiked my heart rate to 123!

I drove home with the hazard lights on the whole way, and kept the hospital bracelet on so that, if I got pulled over, I could tell the police, "I KNOW, but it was an emergency, and we're getting it fixed ASAP." It was also foggy and eerie, and I tend to turn on my hazards when visibility is that low sometimes.

By the time I got home, I felt a little better, but could still feel my heartbeat so noticeably for the next 16 hours or so. I slept mostly sitting up, and slept better than I had the night before.

I don't know what that was, but I have never felt as terrible as I did on Monday. Maybe the colitis or whatever I had as a teenager was worse, but then I had people to take care of me. I could stay home from school. I could pass out and someone would help me up.

I almost never get sick, and even when I do, it tends to be some low-grade mehh sickness that passes in a couple of days. Getting really sick made me feel, honestly, very alone. And resentful of that, even though there's really no one to be resentful of. But it just makes me aware that there's no back-up plan for me. Like, I don't "get" sick days. I guess most moms feel this way? Or I'm just a really bad patient.

Anyway, yesterday morning, my parents came down to play with Mal so I could get some more rest. I knew something was up when Dad offered to take Mal to McDonald's, and Mal said he didn't want to go.

About an hour into their visit, I called Mal back into the bedroom with me. I held him, and he was burning up. Five minutes later...

I sent my parents home (after they'd had some of the cheeseburger macaroni lunch I'd promised them), but they left me Lysol wipes and a loaf of fresh bread my dad had made.

Mal woke up after a bit, absolutely baking and inconsolable. He wanted to go sit at the table, drink some soda, and watch videos. He sat there for a minute, then said he needed to use the restroom. Half way there, he "threw up" in the floor, but he hadn't eaten anything so it was just stomach acid and caramel coloring. Sorry, folks. This is real life. Also the ugly part where one of the first things that ran through my head was, "Welp, glad I'm at 85% because someone has to clean this up and nurse Malcolm."

He immediately went back to sleep in the back bedroom, I got things cleaned up, and I was especially grateful that my mom had given me a pair of house shoes for Christmas because the ones I had been wearing needed to be washed, as well.

I followed Mal around with a barf bag all day, and he hated it, swearing he'd never throw up again. He was highly disappointed that this was "The first time I ever barfed when I was 5!"

Custom blanket by Grandma!

After Mal woke up from this nap, he was ready for a bath. He had refused one earlier, because he said, "I don't want to have the problem again!" His problem is when he is finished taking a bath, but doesn't want to get out. I told him that if he lets the water drain out of the tub, it's easier because you cool off gradually, and then there's nothing left to do but get a towel and get out when it's over. Since he'd been using a damp rag on his face all day to cool his "cheek burn," he decided that trying a bath to cool his fever might be okay.

He successfully bathed, we washed his hair, and I noticed that even in the water, he was covered in goose-bumps. He went straight from the bath back to bed.

Yes, this is the mermaid towel from D's childhood. They've both loved it.

James got home pretty early last night and, wouldn't you know it, looked like an absolute train wreck. James gets sick more often than I do (he's around more people more often, so this makes sense), but here's the deal: EVERY time I get sick, he follows me within a day or so. And this, of course, plays into my whole, "I'm the only hope" mentality, of which I am not proud.

James went straight to bed (Mal's bed, since Mal was in his), and except for moving back into his room because Aish both wanted to be in Mal's room with James, and out of Mal's room when I shut the door because who knows why cats want to do anything, but I guess 5 repetitions of this was plenty. He slept basically 12 hours and looked a lot better this morning. He's working from home today, though, as he scared himself driving home last night (I know the feeling!), and he doesn't want to taint his cow-orkers.

I washed Mal's bedding while he watched videos and napped on the trundle bed. Then he got into his bed and I brushed his teeth with training toothpaste, so he didn't have to spit it out. He did want to rinse with water, but didn't feel up to standing at the sink, so I finally got to use that barf bag!

I laid down with Mal at about 9:30 and then finally discovered something that stupid $600 inhaler is good for!

Often, I wheeze when I lie down. There's something in the back of my throat, or down my windpipe, that, even when my lungs feel open and clear, it makes cat sounds. After half an hour of that regardless of my sleep position, I decided to do my final dose of that otherwise useless inhaler... and there was silence! YAY!

I'm going to stop taking it four times a day, as prescribed, and use it instead only when I'm wheezy at bedtime. It worked all night, and I don't think I snored, either. There appear to be about 180 doses left, so it's conceivable that it could last me a year. Fingers crossed!

Mal had a restless night, waking up and saying things like, "Where's the lava?" and going to the restroom a couple of times, always burning with fever. He woke up at around 6 AM, asking, "Mommy, tomorrow can I have some canned oranges?" I figured he was starving after his Tuesday diet, which consisted of half a bowl of cereal, and apple, and one bag of fruit snacks, so asked if he wanted some right then. He ate about 1/4 of the can very ravenously, declared himself stuffed, and dropped right back off to sleep.

He woke up a little bit later and asked, "Why can I see things in here?" I told him it was because the sun was coming up. "But I'm still tired!" I assured him he could continue to sleep.

It's almost 2 PM on Wednesday. I'm pretty much 100%; I managed to vacuum today and that was something I could not have done yesterday. Mal has slept on and off, eating most of the rest of the oranges. He asked for some milk and an apple and is working on that. He keeps watching these LEGO Star Wars play-through videos, and dozing off. He's less hot than he was a few hours ago.

James is working and still coughing, but we kind of all are. Hopefully D missed out on it. I did go around and wipe down all of the appliance handles, light switches, door knobs, toilet handles, faucets, etc. with the Lysol wipes my parents left. Oh, and last night I managed to make dinner for D and me with the bread my dad made.

Sautéed mushroom, spinach, and garlic with Alfredo sauce and mozzarella cheese. Very good. D especially approved.

Looks like we're all on the mend.

I'm operating under a working theory that Mal is actually "teething." He had a hard time teething as a baby, and yesterday I noticed that his front top right tooth is visibly longer than the left tooth. The dentist who did the fillings did a very poor job, but the teeth were at least even. I think that one is trying to come out. This news, of course, upsets Mal, who does not desire change, especially one that is evocative of aging, which predicts eventual independence. He refuses to wiggle it around to see if it is loose. So I guess we just wait.

That Time I Accidentally Drugged My Kid

Mal went to sleep last night about like normal. At 11:30, he woke up crying and coughing. After I held him for a minute and tried nursing him to help with his throat, it became clear that it wasn't helping at all. I went to get him some medicine, and he freaked out when I left the room, even after I had explained what I was doing.

The more upset he got, the more barking his cough got, and it was to the point where his chest was shuddering loudly every time he inhaled, too. James had to help me open the cough medicine, and I had a pain reliever in line, too, when I decided he needed a breathing treatment to open up his airways.

Mal has witnessed me doing breathing treatments before, but we've never tried one on him before. He HATED it. Although I had him set on the bathroom counter and was holding him, he managed to wriggle away, without even putting the inhaler up to his face. He was screaming, "I don't want it! I don't want it!" and sounding more and more in distress.

He ran into the closet, and I know he was just completely freaked out because he's super sensitive both to light and to sound after he's asleep (just like I was/am). I got him and held him on the bed while James reloaded the nebulizer. Mal had just calmed down when we tried again, in the bedroom, and again, he screamed and wriggled away.

I was angry. I wasn't mad at Mal, per se. But I was scared to death that we were going to have to go to the hospital, I was certain that the breathing treatment would help him, and I was upset that his fear is bigger than his trust that we wouldn't do anything other than help him.

I left him with James and went into the bathroom to get the pain reliever. James got Mal calmed down, then I gave him the medicine, and we went back into the bedroom to see if he could breathe okay.

As James was lying him down, I realized... I'd given him children's Benadryl instead of acetaminophen. Oh well. Allergies are awful around here, anyway, so I figured that wouldn't hurt, and might help him sleep.

And I KNOW. It's a rookie mistake that could be dangerous. But we don't have medicines that are risky for a one-time accidental dose, and also... we were all a little frazzled. I'll look more carefully next time. Turns out we were out of pain reliever, a situation I've already remedied.

Mal was pretty congested all night, but otherwise okay. James had asked, after Mal calmed down, if I wanted to take him to urgent care, but he seemed to be a little better, and we waited it out. He seems 100% this morning, but did tell James, "You scared me last night!" We both apologized, but I also told him sometimes, you have to do scary stuff to help you feel better.

Anyway, guess what? Benadryl does not affect his sleep either way. That kid is a perpetually-charged machine. And he's been in no way groggy today. So glad I never resorted to using that to help him sleep. No dice.

FYI, if Mal ever tells you he had a story, and says something incomprehensible... He means "dream" when he says "story." I mean, he means story sometimes, but he never says "dream."

Today, Mal wanted to play outside, and it's just so dry and chilly that I almost hated to, but I try not to say "no" to outside unless it's absolutely necessary. His poor lips are all cracked and red, but he had a blast. At first, he tried going out in undershorts and a long-sleeved shirt, even after I'd told him to put on clothes. "I have on pants, see!" He quickly came back in asking for a coat, and I convinced him that pants first and THEN a coat might be wise.

Mal hates mittens, so before it got cool this year, I bought him gloves. They only sell mittens in his size, so I got ones that are for a slightly larger child, and it's some work getting his hand comfortably in them. 

I have been saying, "Push your hand forward while I pull up," but he doesn't get it. When I pull the cuffs up, his arms yield to the direction. Today, I had an idea. I said, "Try to touch my boob." THAT WORKED. As he reached out toward me, I pulled the gloves all the way on. He never made it to the target, but I call that a success.

Have a great weekend!

Mal's Destiny?

On Thursday, Mal said something for the first time that he's never addressed before. We don't ask the kids "What do you want to be when you grow up?" (or "Do you have a girl/boyfriend?" or "What's your favorite subject in school?" or a number of "grown-up" questions, just because) so I don't know that it's on Mal's radar at all that when he's an adult, he'll likely work at something.

However, we'd gone to the library and were looking at a book entitled "What Happens When Fire Burns?" The book actually doesn't answer that question on any level, but it is about fire, and that fires don't start spontaneously, and fire safety, and different ways fire teams tackle different fires differently.

Mal was looking at a picture of one guy with his mouth gaped open as he struggled to control a full-blast fire hose. Mal opened his mouth like the picture. Then on the next page, there was a crew dealing with a fuel fire, and they had on the metal-looking fireproof clothes and were shooting foam.

That's when Mal said, "When I'm big, I'm going to do that." I asked, "You are?" He said, "Yeah. I'm going to have to put on those clothes, and then *ppwpcccssshhhh* and after the fire's out, I'll take them back off."

That's the first time he's projected out to when he's bigger. He wants to drive construction vehicles NOW. But what a cliche thing for a three-year-old boy to want to be when he grows up.

This is a cool thing to want to be, but as we watched videos of fires yesterday (and fire training), I realized that, as a mom, I wouldn't want to know too much about what was going on with him at work! Yikes! I'm sure there will be plenty of iterations of vocations before Mal lands on one (heck, I never did), but it's neat to see him trying ideas out.

On Watch

It's 4:50 AM and I've been awake for about an hour. Mal woke up sick, and fortunately didn't seem to feel too terrible. I cleaned the bed and him up while he drank some soda, then he took a bit to go back to sleep, but now I'm awake. I have the window cracked open, and it's so beautiful outside. I know it's cold other places, but it's still getting up to 80 during the day here, so even the mid-60s feels nice.

Mal and I get up Saturday morning and went up to Belton for "Christmas on the Farm," which reminded me a lot of the stuff we used to do at the school fairs where I went to elementary school. It was a fundraiser for Aware Central Texas, but even so was quite inexpensive. They had a country Santa sitting out in overalls in front of a sort of reasonable facsimile of Mater from Mal's favorite movie, Cars (2, actually), but Mal's not into visiting St. Nick just yet. He did like the tractor "race," though!

After that, we went to Nana and Pappy's house. My sister's family except for the D-aged kids came up, too, so we had an impromptu celebration of Sarah's birthday.

Mal doesn't have toilet accidents at home anymore, but, like D, is hesitant -- no, that's too passive a term. He's adamant about not using other toilets. For that reason, he peed in my parents' back yard three times throughout the day.

We took our time coming home because I mistakenly thought that Mal might go to sleep in the car, and it was too early for that. Consequently, he peed in his pants at the park near my parent's house, then he pooped in his pants literally two minutes after we'd been inside the family stall at a safety stop on the way home. Oh well. We got to see something pretty cool while we were there, anyway.

There were two tandem skydivers, apparently landing on top of construction cranes? That's what it looked like from the rest stop playground, anyway.

I was so beat by the time we got home that I was preparing to stay home all day Sunday, but Mal was ready for church, so we went. There's a new little boy Mal's age who has come the past two weeks, and the family with three boys (I really should know their names after a year) was there, too.

After church, we met James for lunch at Santa Catarina which, of course, has a playground. I had an awesome shrimp and grilled cactus salad, and James had their vegetarian tacos. Mal played tag with some kids, and threw some coins in the fountain, and ate James's beans but refused to eat his home fries because they were cube-shaped and not fry-shaped (he didn't say this, but I get him).

Yesterday afternoon, I was so exhausted, I thought I couldn't live without a nap. Or a full night's sleep. It was one of those "something's gotta give" days, and miraculously, Mal let me lie down for 10 minutes while he watched a bit of Cars 2, and before he decided that he needed me to get up to play with him.

We spent some of the afternoon outside, then Mal wanted to go down to the lake. Once again, we saw something cool... and not just the increasing Christmas display!  There was a guy flying a remote-control seaplane! It was flying when we got there, then he splashed it down into the water, and then it maneuvered like a boat.

There's always something to see! Mal requested that we stay until dark, so we did. There was a group of about three families there, and the kids let Mal play with them. At one point, the oldest girl was pretending to be an animal keeper, and had the kids each pick an animal to be. Mal was a zebra. But the "drew" squares in the dirt to be their homes, and while some kids compliantly went to their spots and sat, I could have told her she was sasting her time drawing a pad for my kid. He ran around and "yipped" a lot.

We came home and I fixed pizza hot dogs for dinner because eMeals told me to. And, yes, at this point if eMeals told me to jump off a bridge, I'd totally do it because I trust them. Incidentally, Mal is the only one in the family who did *not* eat a pizza hot dog, in case you're trying to link that with the puking. So there.

So now for the suspense: Do I go back to sleep? Do I just call it a morning and get started? Who knows. But Mal seems to be sleeping comfortably, and that's a relief.

Twenty-Four Hours of Ick

Yesterday morning, as usual, Mal didn't want to leave home. This time it was to go to church. He generally doesn't handle transitions well. As we approached the church building, we slowed to let some people cross the street to get to the megachurch across the road from our little church. Mal thought it was a grocery store, and cried when I started driving the rest of the way. "Mal want to get out at the store!"

THEN, after church, he didn't want to leave church, but wanted to stay and play. However, I'd told him we'd go to the mall, and even though he insisted that he'd rather go to the grocery store, he decided it would be okay.

We got a little bit of lunch first-- Well, I did. Mal didn't eat the pizza slice I got him, but was happy to play on the play area and browse the Disney Store. He fell asleep on the way home, which I knew he would, but it was early enough that I wasn't freaked out.

When he woke up, he desperately wanted soda. As usual, I offered to let him have some of mine if he'd go get a straw. He said, "No! Mal want a new one." So I went to the refrigerator to get a Diet Mt. Dew, and he said, "No! Mal want brown soda!" We didn't have any, but that didn't stop him from crying about it for half an hour.

Finally, James went to the gas station to get Mal a "brown soda." Literally as James was closing our front door on the way out, a wall of water poured down from the sky, so he got to enjoy an impromptu warm dousing on his errand.

When he got back, James was rewarded with gratitude in a way that only a two-year-old can express it: "Mal happy again! Daddy, Mal happy again!" He drank about 1/4 cup of the soda, and went on with life.

He was puny and didn't eat the rest of the day, save a few strands of buttery spaghetti I'd made for him. He was tuckered by 5:30 PM, and I let him go to sleep. He was feverish and woke up fairly frequently, each time murmuring something both incoherent and adorable. Sometimes, he'd giggle. Sometimes he'd say, "Mal can't find it anywhere!"

I went to bed at 8:30, because I had a feeling. That feeling came to fruition at 3:00 AM when Mal woke up and decided it was time to get up. Although I told him it was the middle of the night and time to sleep, D proved him right by being up and doing stuff. We went to the restroom and then let the dog out. We sat on the back porch while the dog did her stuff, and then came back in.

Mal told me that he wanted French fries and, forgetting we're in Texas where there are Whataburgers everywhere, I told him nothing was open. Then he said he wanted to go to to the pool, which I'd promised him we'd do today.

It took about an hour of Mal insisting it was time to get up and my asking him just to hang out with me for a while before he finally laid down in my "lap" (or what would have been if I'd been sitting up, but I was lying down, so...) and slowly dozed off.

This morning, he woke up around 7, normal time, and I told him we could go to Sonic for fries if he wanted; he declined. Meanwhile, James was getting ready to head out... and his car wouldn't start. He threw the car seat out of his old (now my) car and took off, cementing the notion that we wouldn't be going to the pool today.

Second sign that we weren't going: Mal still didn't feel well. He woke up a couple of times, but didn't get out of bed until about 9:45, more than two hours later than usual.

When he woke up, I again asked him if he wanted French fries. He said, "Watermeemon." We don't have any watermelon. Anything else? "Dinosaur juice." Um. "What's in dinosaur juice?" Mal very happily reported: "Grapes..." "We have grapes!" "Apples..." "We have apples!" "Watermeemon..." "We don't have that, but we can make some juice. Come on!"

We walked into the kitchen and he said, "Use the blender!" So I got out an apple, some green and some purple grapes, a kiwi, and... Mal added a second apple.

I had a sieve and filter lined up to strain the juice, but we didn't need it, as the Ninja does such a fabulous job of pulverizing food.

Action shot! Here it is, mid-puree swirl!

So Mal got his dinosaur juice with all of the fabulous fiber of the original fruit, already pre-digested! You're sold, aren't you?

Mal was puny most of the day, lounging around watching Peppa Pig (the source of the dinosaur juice idea) and playing in his room. 

Oh, and kind of being fussier than usual.

For instance: I'd taken advantage of his lower-than-usual level of activity to make these chocolate chip cookies. Mal had seen me working, and after the dough was resting in the fridge (as it is supposed to overnight, or, in my calculations, until at least 7:00 PM), he asked for a cookie. I told him we didn't have any, and he said, "Chocolate chip cookie!" I explained that I couldn't bake them until tomorrow, and, oh, how he cried.

I went into the kitchen and found some chocolate animal crackers, which I showed him, and which he soundly refused. I told him that was all we had, I put some in a snack cup for him, and he firmly answered, "NO, thank you!"

Well, okay.

There was some more crying, and begging me for a "real" cookie, so I finally decided just to bake half of the cookies and, in the name of science, compare them with ones I'll bake tomorrow to see how much better they are after sitting around 24 hours (or up to 3 days).

Cut to half an hour later when the cookies came out of the oven: Mal had eaten all of the chocolate animal crackers and I showed him that the chocolate chip cookies were out of the oven. I offered him one, and he hollered like I'd offered him poison and said, "More brown cookies!" *sigh*

The same kind of thing happened later, when he said he wanted pizza. I didn't have the ingredients or the energy to make dinner, anyway, so said I'd order him a pizza, James a sandwich, and D some chicken wings. Mal said, "No, Mommy, bake it!" This is as opposed to last Thursday when he saw the pizza delivery vehicle across the street and said he wanted some. When I offered to make it, he said, "No! Mal want car pizza!"

I did order the pizza, and he kept asking about it. Until it got here. Then he wanted fruit snacks, which we don't have. I told him I could run to the store to get some, but he said, "We have in house! Do!" Which we don't.

He spent about 45 minutes crying about how he did want fruit snacks, he didn't want me to go get them, and how we DID have some at home before he finally went to sleep.

For like two hours.

James was home when Mal woke up this time, and James had sweetly brought a couple of things of fruit snacks from the office stash. But by now, Mal had decided that he wanted Oreos. He didn't want me to go get them. He didn't want his dad to go get them. He just wanted them. And he wanted us all to stay home.

Then he wanted French fries. I asked if he wanted to make them or to go get some, and he didn't want either of those options. He just wanted French fries.

After about 30 minutes of crying for French fries and my telling him we could have gone to Sonic or put a dent in baking some by then, he finally agreed to make them at home. He wanted me to hold him while I made them, but since I had to actually cut potatoes, it was a no-go. He got over that, then he wanted to cut the potatoes himself. I don't mind letting him use a knife, but not on potatoes just yet. Plus, he's all weepy and clumsy and just a mess.

Anyway, it's 9:30 and the red potato "fries" just got out of the oven. Mal is sitting at the bar, eating them happily. "Mal really hungry!" I'll bet he is. I think his fever has broken, and I don't know when he'll ever go back to sleep, but hopefully this means he's better.

Incidentally, the battery was just dead in James's car. We thought it might be something more serious since the "check engine" light came on this weekend, but the guy who came out to check said that there weren't any codes coming up on his diagnostic machine, so maybe there was some weird charging thing.

So, how was your Monday?

Bedsharing and Illness

I'm going to answer a question literally no one has asked, but I'm sure it's only because people are too polite to ask. Well, or they don't care. Either way, it's my blog, so I'm going to answer this hypothetical question and you can read it or don't, but let me assure you: There are pictures.

Okay, so here we go...

Mal has been sick a very few times in his little life. Since we moved into the apartment, he's gotten ill two or three times where he will be physically ill several times during the night, and otherwise seem fine.

Yesterday was one of those times. He, James, and I were up at the clubhouse when Mal gagged and threw up. We calmed him down, cleaned it up, and came back home. He was fine for a while, but then ended up being sick two more times before he went to sleep (early, for him).

As you know, he still nurses a lot, and we cosleep, specifically bed-sharing. So how do you handle bed-sharing with a barfy kid? We learned some tricks the first time he got sick, and now we have it down to an inelegant science.

First of all, our bed already has a waterproof mattress cover (from the days when he'd drink SO MUCH at night, he'd overfill his diaper; that hasn't happened in months, knock on proverbial wood) and a fitted sheet. On top of that, I put a couple of blankets. Like this:

The blankets are only on one side, because James sleeps on the outside, and he is a HARD sleeper, so it's easier if we can fix things without waking him up. Which we can, for the most part. Except this next step, if it comes to that...

On top of the other stuff, I put ANOTHER fitted sheet, cover the pillows with a towel, and then place a towel where Mal is most likely to lie down.

Finally, we do the halfsies on sheets, too, and have a spare waiting, if necessary. We also have a stack of spare towels waiting.

So, last night, when Mal would wake up, I'd pull the towel up kind of between his legs and hold the end of it to his mouth. I'd catch what I could (it wasn't a lot; he hadn't eaten much and what he had eaten was already gone), and then hope that the towel caught what I missed. Then I'd wipe Mal down with a diaper wipe and hold him while James changed out the towel for a new one. This happened three times.

The fourth time it happened, James didn't wake up, but switching the towel out myself isn't a big deal.

The fifth time it happened, I messed up! Mal woke up asking, for the third time that night, for "deeda... draw" (which is to say "soda, straw"). I'd put him off before, saying, "Okay, we'll get some later." But when I tried to put him off again this time, he repeated his request, and I could hear how dry his mouth was. My mistake was not remembering that he was waking up to be sick, which he had not done yet. Oh, but it was in the works. Had I waited and THEN given him soda, all would have been fine. Instead, I held the straw to his lips, he drank a couple of swallows, then, without warning: EXPLOSION! (I'm letting a soda flatten right now, so if he has the same request tonight, I'll wait him out and then comply.)

So we DID end up having to take off the second fitted sheet, and he slept on the two blankets, which ended the night unscathed.

There are definitely things I don't like about bedsharing. Like, you know, that there's a move-around-y kid in my bed, and I'm a light sleeper. But there are benefits (like not having to get up to resettle him, which is more often than not VERY frequently throughout the night), and, honestly, when they're sick is one time that it's so much easier.

Today, I was reading an article about why kids' fevers spike at night, and it started with: "It started around 1 A.M. My son was 14 months old, and the noises coming from his room didn't seem completely human: There was a sort of honking bark followed by a whistle-y kind of breathing... I ran into his room, my heart racing with worry, and I found him sitting up in his crib, looking scared and tired."

I don't have to do that. The second Mal wakes up, I'm awake. I can't prevent him from being sick, but I can hold him while he's sick. I can reassure him from the instant he's uncomfortable. There's no lag time. Mommy's here. It's not great, but it's going to be okay.

Later in the article was this: "I put him back in his crib, and he slept through the night. I, on the other hand, kept checking in on him every hour or so, but that's what mothers do." Nope, it's not what I do. I sleep. I sleep confidently, knowing that if there's a problem, I'll wake up because he's right there.

James had said, before we went to bed last night, "We'll need to make sure he doesn't sleep on his back." Well, you can't do that with a toddler. But I didn't have to worry about him drowning in his own sick or anything horrid like that that mothers can imagine, because I was able to sit him up literally every time he started that tell-tale cough.

With our set-up, we are able to rid of things and get back to sleep quickly, which is good for all of us. Yay, sleep. Even sleep with a hot ninja ramming a heel into your bladder at 2:30 AM. It's what works for now.

Gross Stuff

This is nasty, all of it. So don't read it. It's mostly just for me.

My son got over the upchucking part of being sick after six times. That was his entree into illness of that type; he never spits up and had never thrown up (although he'd gagged up post-nasal drip stuff before) until Monday morning.

However... his body was very leery of food yesterday, which I understand and appreciate. What that means, though, is that he's back to primarily breastfeeding. This results in the "breastmilk poop" diapers... and those things are a freaking mess. He went through three pair of shorts yesterday, and at about 3:30 this morning managed to need a complete body wipe-down. I just threw the onesie he was wearing as pajamas away. There was a bit of stain from his first sick bit... he'd coincidentally eaten one of his last "puree pouches" Sunday morning and it had beets in it. So, very stained and I just couldn't make myself wash it again.

Fortunately, as a precaution in case he was ill again, I'd left one of the blankets spread out on top of our fitted sheet, so all we had to do was roll that up and put another one down (more insurance) and we were able to go back to sleep. But he was boobing the whole rest of the night.

Now for the next gross thing... I've been doing *so* much laundry due to the barfing and then the diaper-splosions... Well, now to add into that mix, I'm on my period. I'm in a FB group (more on that in a bit) and lots of people who are breastfeeding haven't had periods for like two years! They're worried because they want to conceive. Meanwhile, I got my period back when Mal was about four or five months old. Woo hoo. And it's not because he cut back on his eating; he did not. He has not. What happened was that my period has always loved to make me miserable and it couldn't wait to return.

Since this second full-term pregnancy, my periods have gotten worse than ever. Previously, there was seven good days of bleeding, along with some pretty severe PMS symptoms such as moodiness and cramps. Well, my cramps are not as bad as they were in high school, but the actual bleeding? WORSE. Now I'm looking at ten full days of bleeding per cycle, and there is a LOT of blood. Today, I happened to check. I have a Diva Cup, so if I'm really interested, I can look. In one hour, I expelled 7.5 ml of blood. So you can forget getting through the night without tending to it. Ugh. I'm just ready to menopause and be done with it.

In other disgusting news, I used to have a mole under my right arm. In fact, when Mal was a baby and I was worried about my supply, I'd sometimes press on it with my left hand when he was nursing. I mentally assigned it the title "Milk button" and imagined that when I pressed it, it would turn on the milk machine. I know, it's stupid. But if you've never willed yourself to produce enough milk, then good for you.

Anyway, my son's arms got long enough that he "found" the mole and would mess with it when he was nursing. It really hurt, and I might have been a bit of a baby complaining about it. One morning, though, James looked when I was getting dressed and said, "It's really red and inflamed!"

Long story slightly less long, he managed to crack it open, and it scabbed up, and now that it's healing... it's gone. When the scab goes, there will just be normal skin there (and maybe a little pinpoint scar?). No more mole. Who needs a dermatologist?

So, that's the icky stuff.

Here's an interesting (to me) thing, but you might also not love it. I recently joined a FB group called "Breastfeeding Older Babies and Beyond." I love it! It's a bunch of ladies who are nursing kids at least one year old. I needed somewhere to talk, even when I'm tired and overwhelmed, where the input wouldn't include tips about how it's time to force wean Mal. I'm not set on a date or anything; I want to try to take his lead when it comes to weaning. And the group has been great so far not only in making me feel "normal," but in changing my attitude about breastfeeding a bit. I'm getting a little more excited about it, rather than it being an inconvenience I'm willing to bear because I think it's the right thing for us to do. I even ordered a subway token necklace to commemorate one year of breastfeeding. Can't wait to wear it.

So that's all of the super fun stuff I wanted to remember. Don't ask me why. It's not all just about griping and funny stories, I guess.

Monday Morning Madness

Happy Valentine's Day!

We had a great weekend...

Saturday morning, I got out with Mal and we picked up TJ to go to the RV Expo. Went downtown, parked in a garage, walked about a mile, got to the convention center... and the expo is next weekend!

Fortunately, crepes were only a block away. I accidentally took this picture of TJ's arm and Mal's face while we waited to order at Le Crepe Cafe. I kind of love it.

They were busy, maybe normally for a Saturday morning. But we waited almost half an hour to order, and then go get our food. Mal doesn't do sitting for that long, so he kept getting up. I let him. It made people nervous. Actually, his standing up in the high chair made one guy so nervous, he startled me as he'd gotten up and was at my shoulder when I noticed him.

Here's where Mal was playing, bothering no one. Still. I had to make sure my eyes were very obviously ON him, as people were craning their necks to see where his neglectful parent might be... about four tables away.

Mal met two dogs, and he decided it was time to leave about fifty times, each of which I had to go chase him down and bring him back to the table. He cried and fought some of the time, so to get him to sit, I let him play with a lidded cup of dressing. He got the lid off and spilled the whole thing in his lap, but fortunately I had an extra outfit in a Ziplog bag in my purse (I don't always, but I should!). I think at that point, the family at the table next to us was saying, "I can't believe this is happening, but it is," because I pulled his clothes off right there to put the new clothes on. Ehh.

After our unanticipatedly-long brunch, we walked to the Google Fiber space (past JW Marriott, which is hugely swanky), then to Toy Joy. I found Valentine's cards for James and Daphne, and got D a pair of macaroni and cheese socks.

TJ was a great sport about not going to the RV expo. Oh! We ran into a team from Aspire Beverages and they gave us free drinks in exchange for letting them take their pictures with us for a scavenger hunt. That drink came in handy toward the end of brunch, when I'd been sitting in the sun for an hour!

After Mal had had a good nap, we went to Bee Cave and ate an early dinner at Mandola's Market, a selection we made largely because they had a playscape. The food was legit, and Mal had fun playing.

I will say, if eating out with Mal is typically a challenge, doing it when James is on crutches (plantar fasciitis), is way harder! EVERYTHING is harder.

Sunday, I was going to take Mal to the gym before church, but he ended up working off so much of his energy that he fell asleep in the car. I went to Taco Cabana to get James and me lunch, and it took FOREVER, but Mal got a good nap.

For Valentine's Day, Mal colored a rock for Daphne. It was really pretty! I made a cheesecake for James and Daphne, and James got Daphne and me our own boxes of See's Candies. And for Mal... I made him warm fresh milk all day long.

Sunday evening, we went to Waffle House, where I had made us all reservations. They had a Valentine dinner special, and it was really cute. They'd put red and pink tissue paper on the white lamps throughout the diner, red tablecloths, candles, champagne flutes (plastic!) at each table, centerpieces, placemats, etc. It was nice. Ther "T-bone for two" meal was enough for all four of us.

We came home, and Mal wanted to go on a walk, so we "hiked" in the greenbelt behind our house. He thought of his dad halfway through it, though, and wanted to come back to check on him. When we got to the apartment, though, he wanted to ride my bike. I went on one round of the apartments, and he kind of cried and fussed on the downhill portion. I thought he wanted to come back, but when we rode down the sidewalk, he cried AGAIN. So we went one more round, and he fussed and cried some of the way, again... I decided we were done.

He was kind of weepy the rest of the night, and I put him to bed earlier than usual. He cried a lot going to sleep, and it took a long time. Then at one o'clock this morning, he got sick. At first, I thought it was just like when he was coughing up post-nasal drip, but he was actually sick for the first time.

Hey, remember what I said about James not being able to put any weight on one foot? There I was, trying to unzip the mattress cover from our king memory foam bed in the dark while James was sitting in the recliner holding Mal, who was fussing for me. James suggested that we wait until the morning to do that, but I couldn't sleep in the chair that long.

I got the bed remade, minus the mattress cover, and we laid down. Within a few minutes, he was sick again, but I could tell it was coming that time and caught most of it. So Mal and I got into the bathtub together and had a bath at one o'clock.

Sweet James was hobbling around on his crutches getting diapers, towels, pajamas, whatever we needed. He settled on the recliner in the living room and Mal and I laid on the couch. In a couple of hours, Mal was sick again, and I was having difficulty getting comfortable enough to sleep, so we moved to the recliner in our room.

That worked for a couple of hours, but then I needed to lie down. I spread an old quilt out on our denuded bed, covered my lower half with a small blanket Daphne got at church camp, and used a towel to cover my top. At this point, I'd given up on clothes for Mal or me; we'd already changed twice in the night.

He got sick one more time in the bed, and I had to sit him on the bathroom cabinet and give him a sponge bath that time. It was starting to get light when we both got back into bed, and I thought I'd never get to sleep, but I did. I even dreamed.

Mal's been sick twice again this morning, but I'm almost caught up on the laundry, and it's been five hours since he wasn't able to keep food down. Let's hope that means he's on the mend. I have no idea what was wrong with him. He had no other symptoms and didn't seem to feel bad, just tired and confused about what was going on with his body.

Now he's awake and raring to go, so I'm going to go play with my boy!

Our weekend

Spoiler alert: unless you enjoy discussing bodily fluids and the like, you might want to take a pass on this one.

Hello, everyone. How are you? This is a picture of my son and me from Friday.

See how he's cuddling on the couch with me? He doesn't ever do that. In case the face doesn't give it away, he wasn't feeling well. Neither was I.

This weekend, our whole family pretty much died. Too dramatic? I don't think so.

There's a little "blessing" about living in Austin called "cedar fever." It's actually an allergic reaction to the juniper ashei, also known as mountain cedar. The pollen is spiky (on a microscopic level) and can cause inflammation even in people without allergies. Well, most of us in this house have allergies, too, so we're having a lot of fun with the spike in levels that just hit.

D caught it first and has been struggling with it the longest. This weekend, she was spitting up blood. Fun. Good, fun times. She's been drinking a lot of chocolate milk and tea, and even consented to a dose of Flonase. It's a work-in-progress.

Mal started getting it next, followed quickly by me. His actually started as congestion and drainage due to teeth-cutting. In the past three weeks, he's gotten both of his top molars and at least one of his top eye teeth; the other one might be coming in, but he doesn't let me look in his mouth very much.

He's had a hard time sleeping, because he'll get choked on his drainage and cough and reposition... and then want to nurse. We're talking every fifteen minutes or so, awake or sleeping, actually. I'm pretty worn out and sensitive in the chestral regions.

Then, I started... sneezing at first, and literally blowing through all of our handkerchiefs (repurposed wipes James' mom made) in one day. I've gone through one roll of toilet paper since then. After the two days of sneezing, it became coughing. Coughing to the point of gagging and almost passing out. In the meantime, I've taken Claritin, Flonase, and bronchodilator pills every day.

This morning was the first time I've ever had asthma symptoms so awful that I couldn't do something with my kid that he wanted to do (all the way back to when Daphne was a baby; it never stopped me playing with her). He wanted to "ride the pony" by sitting on my hips whilst I lay in the floor. But I felt like I was going to suffocate and after one round of bouncing him, I had to get up. I hated it.

(Note: before you tell me I need to see a doctor, let me explain something: Every doctor I've seen gives me crap about refilling a rescue inhaler. They say I need to manage my asthma better so that I don't have to use the rescue inhaler, which they say should last more than a year and which I tend to go through in about three months when it's bad like this. A maintenance inhaler is $500 a month without insurance, and more than $300 WITH insurance. I'm not dying. I'm bothered and inconvenienced and my back hurts and it ticks me off, but I'm not dying. I can't spend $500 a month on a maintenance inhaler. Thank you for respecting that.)

I have learned that I can help my progress when I start coughing either by getting on my hands and knees if I'm in the floor or by putting my hands on the countertop and leaning over if I'm standing. It usually shortens the fit from coughs until I nearly black out to two or three good ones.

Meanwhile, Friday morning, I needed help. I needed more sleep, and I asked James to take Mal when he first woke up so that I could get just twenty minutes more sleep. But guess what? Yep. It had gotten to James, too, at this point. As an added bonus, James also got some kind of stomach bug, so spent a good deal of the weekend excusing himself from our company.

In the interim, I might have yelled at a lady from Chase who encouraged me to call back "on another phone" because she couldn't understand me as our connection was bad, after I'd been on hold 30 minutes, to find out why our HSA card wouldn't pay for our OTC Flonase - although I assume it's because they changed the rules to apply only to prescription drugs... AFTER THEY ALREADY HAD OUR MONEY AND THERE'S A PENALTY TO REMOVE IT. I asked her if I could call back without having to wait again, and she very cheerfully said, "Yes, ma'am; you can just call back on another phone." And I might have hollered something like, "I DON'T WANT TO CALL BACK ON ANOTHER PHONE. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO WAIT AGAIN SO THANKS FOR NOTHING."

Then, as an added bonus, I immediately looked at my husband (remember the one who hadn't been able to help me with Mal that morning?) and said, "I NEED HELP AND NOBODY WANTS TO HELP ME."

>>>Edited to add: Mal was in the kitchen playing and started yelling random babble. Nice.

(Do you see a pattern here? I think I'm getting fragile in my old age. Actually, I've always been a little bit like this. I can hold it together though a lot... until I can't. Then, good god, it's messy.)

Now, I'm not proud of this, but James immediately emptied the dishwasher. Guys, he's a good man, and he puts up with my craziness, and I love him. He helps all of the time, and I'm totally in danger of taking that for granted. My pity party had nothing to do with him, except maybe my total lack of empathy for his illness since I kind of wanted my own space to be sick and have everyone else do everything so that I could lie down. I don't think that can happen again for several years, honestly.

Then, as an extra added bonus, I started my period last night. Which I hope explains my utter inability to deal with anything this weekend.

So... today, I haven't coughed much. I've blown my nose a lot, but no coughing. James went to work. Daphne's still asleep. Mal's been very very very very clingy and "nursey" and I keep trying to clear his nostrils, but he isn't very keen on that. I'm trying to distract him every time he asks to nurse, but once he starts crying and won't take orange juice, yogurt, a banana, cereal, or anything... I just let him. I'm sure I'll get the feeling back in my boobs some day.

There you go. There's the romantic weekend we had.

Just to let you know, we also went to breakfast Friday (which James had off) at an awesome barbeque trailer near here, then took a 3/4 family trip to the grocery store; we went to Mal's gym and later to Target to get James jeans and D a Minecraft gift card; and Sunday, the kids and I went to church. So we haven't just been rolling around in our misery. We're still living the life. It's just been a lot more intense the past few days. I'm ready for it to get boringer again.