Hey, Y'all!

Itchy and Scratchy

Dean's preschool recently shared the dreaded head lice with our family.  What a lucky bunch we are.  I debated whether or not to write about it for all of 3 seconds before reminding myself that DUH! Every single home remedy and trick that worked? I learned from another blog mom friend.   Amalah recently wrote this awesome guide to Plague and Pestilence, which I turned to at the first sign of nits.  Her recommendations are excellent, especially the comb. 

Stacey of Tree, Root and Twig was my lifesaver when it came to lice.  She's the mom of five kids, so she's pretty much seen it all.  Her home remedies saved me a bundle of cash and heartache.

FIRST SIGNS:

Ok, so, how do you differentiate between lice and plain ole dandruff?  Lice lay eggs, called nits, which attach to your hair shaft.  You'll usually see them about a quarter inch (or less) down from the root. It's easiest to spot them around the ears and base of the hairline, though most of Marcus's were around his part on top of his head.  When you move the hair, dandruff will fall downwards while nits will stay attached.   As they hatch, the lice move around your head, causing itching. (Grossed out yet?  Me too.)

TREATMENT:

Here's where Stacey's brilliance saved me.  Her suggestion was, rather than buying costly products that can be full of chemicals, use household products to saturate the hair and smother the lice.  We went with her top suggestion of olive oil.  All three of us held our head over our kitchen sink and poured olive oil liberally over our scalps.  We rubbed it all over and through our hair, taking care to really saturate the area behind the ears and at the hairline.  Marcus wrapped his head in saran wrap, which was HAWT, while Dean and I rocked disposable shower caps.  Rather than spending over $10 per bottle just for Rid shampoo, we spent $6.99 for 2 bottles of olive oil (they were buy one get one free at our store!), $2 on shower caps and right around $7 for the comb to end all combs, the RidVantage Lice Removal Comb.  Steel combs are where it's at for lice removal.  Don't even waste time with the plastic ones. 

So, once we marinated our heads for about 4 hours, we rinsed out the olive oil using regular shampoo (baby shampoo on Dean).  It left the hair a bit oily and slippery, but that made things easier.  I used the awesome comb to go through each little section of hair, rinsing after each stroke, picking out any nits that were stubborn enough to stick around.  This part takes FOREVER, especially if you have long hair like Marcus and me.  Dean's nits slid right out of his very fine hair.  That  night, I washed his hair again with baby shampoo, mostly to get the oil out, combed it once again (while he was in the tub! Distraction with bathtub fingerpaint FTW!), then blew it dry. I think the blow-drying was the worst part for him--he's not a fan.  I have not seen one single nit in his head since.

Marcus and I were not so lucky.  For whatever reason, we had a reoccurrance and finally had to use Rid shampoo. Y'all.  That stuff smells HORRIBLE. I did mine first and complained to Marcus that I smelled like the bathroom of a dollar store.  He laughed at me, then did his own hair.  He came out of the bathroom claiming to smell "old people, flea dip, that hand soap that sort of smells like bacon, lighter fluid and kitty litter."  In other words, the bathroom at a dollar store.

So far so good, though we'll be doing another olive oil treatment tonight and combing, combing, combing again, just to be sure.

FOR YOUR HOME:

It's importatnt to know that domestic cats cannot contract human lice.  I called the vet immediately, dreading we'd have to pick nits out of Chutney.  Luckily, she  is in the clear.  She wishes we'd all stop wearing shower caps.

I bought Rid's home lice spray and have used it on our mattresses, couches, carpets, dining chairs, car seats, curtains and rugs.  I had a few extra pillows I'd bought last summer when they were on sale, so we tossed the old ones and brought in the new ones. We've wiped down all our surfaces with bleach and mopped the floors.  I vacuumed with baking soda.  I have washed approximately 4000 loads of laundry in hot water and dried them on the "heavy duty" setting.  For Dean's school nap mat, which we're pretty sure started all of this in the first place, I washed it, dried it, then immediately sealed it in a platic bag and put it in the trunk of my car until we got to school this morning. Toys that may have gone near someone's head have been soaked in very diluted bleach or sprayed with Lysol. 

I feel like we've got a handle on things, though I will continue to be EXTREMELY vigilant for the next few days.

I want to be sure to point out that having lice doesn't mean you are a gross person or that your home is unclean.  In fact, lice can't stick to dirty hair.  It's just part of life, especially in the deep south.  I had them as a kid at the same time I had chicken pox. (That was a bad week.)  I imagine this may not be our last time to deal with this, so long as we live in this region and have a little kid in our house.

Have you ever had lice? Got any tricks up your sleeve to get rid of them?

Nature's A Little Gross

Now that I've been blogging for nearly five years, I feel it's time I come clean about something to you, my faithful readers. Here it is, a deep, dark secret of mine.

Sometimes nature grosses me out.

Sure, there are gross things in nature, like slugs, that are important. Though I can't think of one off the top of my head right now, I know slugs serve an important purpose in ye olde circle of liiiiiife.  I'm talking about things like a whole bunch of mussel shells stuck to a rock. GROSS.  The spores on the backs of fern leaves. SHUDDER. But the worst?  CRACKED MUD. Seriously. It makes me gag.

I worked on a dance show the first year I worked at Cornell that involved 5 choreographes, 4 of whom took the elements of nature (fire, air, water and earth) and created a dance based on their assigned element.  In our design meeting, the set designer brought in photos for reference. One of them was a full-screen shot of cracked mud.  I gagged so hard people heard me.

Maybe it's the naturally occurring patterns that freak me out, since  I also can't look at segmented worms for too long without gagging.  Something about all that symmetry is just nasty. 

As for food, I don't like to look at highly marbled raw beef, raw chicken skin (BUMPS, OMG) or, watit for it, the tops of tomatoes. I'm ok if they don't have those weird little lines on them, but if there are lines, FORGET IT. Gag city. Spotted bananas also gross me out, but not on par with the tops of tomatoes. Here, because I love you, I will give you a visual aid.

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

Ok, that one on the left is extra gross, probably to everyone. But it gets the point across, right?

Now that I've nearly made myself hurl, I'm wrapping this up.

Do any of you have naturally occurring things that gross you out? Please tell me I'm not alone.

Good Intentions

I had hoped to give you a virtual tour of our Christmas tree today. (Is that even interesting to anyone but me? Looking at other  people's Christmas ornaments?) Then yesterday happened, which threw today off-kilter and, well, it ain't happenin'.  I had intended to drop Dean off at school Wednesday morning, drive to work, get the last bit of my prep work done (I start rehearsals on Friday), then drive back in time to get Dean at 2pm.  As we were preparing to leave, I logged onto Facebook and saw tales of icy roads, freezing rain and school cancellations.  I opened the curtains to reveal the fact that YES! There was indeed freezing rain, and right outside my own house even!  My car was completely frozen and the tv was flashing news of road closures, accidents and schools on alert.  Valuing my life as I do, I called and told them I wasn't coming to work.  They told me that was a pretty good idea.

Since I didn't go in yesterday, this meant I HAD to go today to finish prepping my rehearsal studio. Dean has come with me once before when I was doing the very task I had to do today, so I brought him along. Halfway through our drive down, he started wheezing a bit. He said he was ok, but he was coughing. I tried to encourage him to take it easy and watch his DVD or play with his trains while I worked, but OMG TAPE MEASURES, PAPER CUPS AND DIFFERENT COLORS OF TAPE!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So, he broke our 100 foot tape measure, wrapped himself with red spike tape and made a tower out of paper cups. When we were done, we headed to our car, which was parked waaaaaaaaaaay out in front of the theatre. PETER PAN is playing right now and the cast and crew is huge, so there was no parking to be found in the staff lot when  I arrived. Halfway back to the car, Dean sat down on the (WET) sidewalk and said, "Sugar, I tired!" So I shifted the backpack, giant purse, insulated lunchbox thingy and laptop I was carrying and scooped him up. He looked really tired, so I suggested he take a nap in the car. He replied, "Ok, Sugar. Niiiiiiight Night."

He napped for about 10 minutes before coughing so hard that he gagged and barfed a little. That woke him up. He said, "Uh oh, a mess!" We pulled over, cleaned up and got back on the road. He refused to  nap when we got home, so we spent the afternoon putting stickers on the important dates  in our Highlights 2011 calendar, reading High Five magazine, snuggling and watching Curious George. He perked up a bit when Marcus came home, so I ran to the grocery store and swung through Zaxby's for a quick dinner. We were settling in, watching a pre-bedtime episode of The Cat In The Hat and looking through a toy catalog when Dean started barfing buckets...all over my left arm.   Marcus, ever the smart one, caught most of it with a page from a sale paper. Let me tell you...I  never want to see another grape as long as I live.

So, friends, that is why you are not getting a virtual tour of my Christmas tree today. On Friday I will begin rehearsing my latest project. I'm excited about getting back to work, mildly apprehensive about being away from home more and really, really ready for my Christmas break next week.

Here's hoping this Christmas isn't barftastic like last year.

All the gory details

Ok. So I was nervous ALL day on Thursday. I went back and forth between completely calm and near-hysterics a few times.  I was scared of the anesthesia. I was terrified of the breathing tube. I was worried about Dean. I wondered what the recovery would be like. I let myself have one good last cry over the fact that Thursday was,  indeed,  my last day as a fertile female. I took a second and wrote a little letter to my body, something no one else will ever see, thanking it for producing one perfect child. I prayed a lot. I talked to my parents a lot. The fact that they weren't freaking out was comforting. I tried to go to bed early, but little household tasks kept haunting me. I'd go into the bedroom and decide to go give the kitchen sink one more wipe-down with Clorox spray or decide to change out the hand towel in the hall bathroom. I washed every stitch of clothing we own and spent lots of time picking up toys. Dean sensed something was up, so we had an extra-long storytime before bed that night and I cuddled with him until  he was asleep. Marcus got home around 12:30 with our overnight babysitter in tow and we finally went to bed.

The alarm went off at 3:45 Friday morning and Marcus sat straight up and asked, "Who's calling!?!??!?!" I told him it was the alarm and he nearly fell out of bed. I got up, brushed my teeth and hair, dressed in my comfy yoga pants, maternity undies (!) and a loose t-shirt and snuck into Dean's room for a quick kiss atop his sweet, sleeping head.  Once  Marcus was ready, we  hit the road. It was 4:07am and pitch-black outside. We didn't talk much on the ride. He told me a few stories from the previous night's rehearsal and I gave him a few reminders about Dean stuff.

The hospital was already bustling when we arrived just before 5am.  Everyone in admissions was super-pleasant and friendly.  The clerk who took care of us talked about Alabama football and really put me at ease. Once we went up to the one-day surgery unit, Marcus was given a tracking number so he could keep up with me (it's like I'm a UPS package!) and I was taken to a curtained room to get prepped.  Leaving my husband in the waiting room? NOT the best part of my day.

Once in my little curtained area, I was instructed to "go" in a cup (pregnancy test) and change into my surgical costume, which consisted of some grey slipper-socks, a sassy  blue bonnet and a lavender gown. Friends, we could have ALL fit into that gown TOGETHER.   I had to wrap the little waist tie around myself three times. I noticed some weird cardboard things on the shoulders  and knee areas of the gown, but figured I probably didn't want to  know what those were for.  My patient care tech, Derek, came in and took my temperature with what he called a "magic wand." It looks like the scope they use to check your ears, only the front is flat. He waved  it over  my temporal lobe and under my ear  and it took my temperature. Amazing! Also, non-invasive!  Then he brought out this hose, which immediately threw me into a panic,  thinking,"Oh,  gosh, he's gonna shove that down my throat  right now!" He explained that my gown was called a Bair Paw and contained air pockets. He hooked the hose up to the cardboard connector at  my knee and gave me the  controller. I selected "Warm #3" and  suddenly a whoosh of perfect, warm air filled my  gown. I immediately asked if I could take it home. Derek glared at me. The nurse came in and beat my arms for about 20 minutes, trying to find a vein. Finally, she tied  3 tourniquets onto my left arm, gave me some lidocaine and jabbed the IV into my left wrist. Ow  and also OW.

Marcus got to come in then  and upon seeing my puffed-up gown, asked if I'd opted for a boob job instead of a tubal. The anesthesiologists came in and talked me through the "putting you to sleep" parts, putting my mind more at ease. Suddenly, my OBGYN burst through the curtain and exclaimed, "Your kidney function is fantastic!" My creatnine was 0.5!!!! (That's really good for anyone, but  EXTRA good for a PKD patient!) She talked to us and stayed with me until they were ready to roll me down the hall.  Someone injected something wonderful into my IV and I actually kind of enjoyed the ride to the OR. I may have even waved a time or two.  Once we got there, they moved me  to the table, unplugged my warm, puffy gown (boo) and  asked if I was comfortable. My doctor took my hand and said, "Sweet dreams, Jen," and I was OUT.

The next thing I remember is a very sweet  nurse going, "Well, HAY! How are you?" I demanded that I needed to get up  and go to the bathroom, but they thought I should use a bed pan instead. It was not a fruitful effort.   For some reason, I was convinced that I needed to give something  to someone, but they said I  should lie still. When asked to rate my pain, I gave it a 7 and they gave  me  some  morphine. (I  like them.) I  got "the shakes" a bit from  the anesthesia and sort  of drifted in and out for  the next several  minutes.  Once I woke up a bit  and my pain was a 1, they moved me to Phase 2 of recovery, where I was presented with the  best Diet Coke  I've ever had along with a very cute visitor. (Marcus)

The  nurse  told me I could not leave until I  "pee-peed," so  I made it my mission. I took  my IV fluids  and drank my  Diet Coke. I got up  and tried. Nothing. They put me back to bed, gave me more to drink, hooked the fluids back up and waited 30 minutes.  By this point,  my  bladder was  about to burst,  so we tried again. After a painful  10 minutes, I finally went. They had catheterized me during  the surgery, so the aftermath is YOOOOOOWWWZZZZAAAA.

Now, my surgery was pretty routine. They  made a tiny incision under my belly button for the scope, then on my left side, just above  my hipbone,  for the  instruments.  They typically go in above the pelvic bone, but there's a lot of scar tissue left from my c-section  and they were concerned about bladder  injury, so they went through my abdomen instead. I appreciate this gesture.

After a trip through the drive-thru's at CVS  and KFC, we came home and I  got fed and medicated. I've been pretty much confined to my bed ever since. I  do get up and move around some  and I ate dinner at the kitchen table last night while Dean was outside with Mia, our phenomenal sitter who has taken excellent care of all of us this weekend. We are super-blessed to have her in our lives. This morning I went down and collected my coffee and cheese toast and  ate in bed (a  pet-peeve of mine, but you do what you gotta, right?). I took a shower  and it was glorious. I'm not sure the sticky goo from all the connecters will ever wash  off, but at least the betadine's gone.

I had  the idea that I would try  to skip a dose of pain meds. MISTAKE. The gas they use to inflate your abdomen escapes through your left shoulder and WOW, does it hurt! I feel like I'm having muscle spasms. My incision on the left is a  little bruised and hurts a bit,  so I took a Percocet. Now I'm feeling goofy,  so I'd better wrap up.  Leave me a comment and let me know about your  favorite Etsy shop or website. I  need new things to  look  at online!

xoxoxo. You're all lovely. I give you  great big slobbery internet kisses.

An excellent excuse to wear yoga pants for a full week

Wow, y'all.  If you want to drive up your blog traffic, do the  following:

1. Talk about getting your tubes tied.

2.  Post a recipe for Parma Rosa Sauce.

Tomorrow's the big day.  I had my pre-op appointment yesterday and all went well.  I'm in good health with super-low risk factors, so all is expected to go smoothly. They took SIX VIALS of blood from my horrible veins,  so I imagine they're checking out every single cell in  my body to make sure I'm prepared.  Did I mention that I had to fast before having this labwork done? At 10am? And NO coffee?   Yeah. Yet I remained relatively pleasant and even remembered my name and date of birth 302 out of the 303 times they asked.

I met with my OBGYN and she talked me through the procedure. They'll go in with the laproscope just under my belly button, then in through my c-section scar with the instruments.  They'll put me to sleep with IV medication and insert a breathing tube. Honestly, the breathing tube is the part that makes me the  most nervous, even though I'll likely never know it was there. When I had my c-section, I was more afraid of the catheter than the epidural. I'm weird like that.  Anyway, the entire procedure, from getting me into the OR  to waking me up, should take about an hour.   I'm the first case of the day, which should mean surgery starts at 9am. Christy will post some updates here.  The reality of it will likely be boring things like "Jen is attempting to tolerate liquids," so I fully expect her to spice it up a bit. I will admit right now that I'll be wearing maternity underwear  home from  the hospital so as not  to crush mah incisions. (See? GOOD THING I held onto those all this time!)

Thank you for already reaching out to me through  comments and emails. It means the world that you care.  I'm going to write my Comfort Food Saturday post now so I can schedule it to  post. Otherwise, you're likely to get doped-up Jen's recipe for taking Percocet. (Hey, it's comforting!)

Be sure to check out my awesome blog friends who are also participating in NaNaBloPop,  too!

Alissa (seriously, her Pay It Forward posts are not  to be missed!)  SSU  (Super-cute daily features about her life and adorable children) Christy (The Ham to my Cheese...or possibly vice-versa)  The Hotch Potchery  (One of my original NaBloPoMo friends from 2 years ago) and  Marianne (a new blog friend!)

EDITED TO ADD: Surgery is at 7am, so I have to be there at 5. GAH.

 

All Tied Up

I'm having my tubes tied on Friday.

DISCLAIMER! If reading about my ladybits makes you uncomfortable, look away! (DAD!) Go read Food Lush or something.

Ok, you  asked for it.

Ever since learning we wouldn't be able to have more children last year, Marcus and I have spent countless hours discussing our family-planning options.  The big V, IUDs and  many other things came up, but I ultimately decided, not that long ago, that I want to get my tubes tied.  Before  I (or anyone else) could talk myself out of it, I called my OBGYN and talked with the nurse. That was last Monday.  She offered me a surgery slot last Thursday. Seeing how we'd need to arrange childcare and the like, we put it off until this week.

This decision was both incredibly difficult and very easy to make.  Over the past few months, I have truly come to be at peace with the fact that I can't have another baby.  It still sucks, but I can live with it. What I can't live with is the slap-in-the-face of having to use various forms of birth control.  (I'm serious, Dad, go away.)  Hormonal methods are not an option for me, as they could interfere with my kidney function or my blood pressure, so it was to be IUD, snippity snip or party hats for us from here on out.

No, thanks.

I considered a copper IUD (Paragard), but learned that my uterus is retroverted and short-in-stature (like the rest of me), so I would  likely "expel" the device.  Haunted by visions of  an IUD flying across the room and smacking some poor actor  in the face during rehearsal was enough to take that option off the table. (Not to mention the extra cramps and bleeding often associated with those. NO WAY.)

I have a pre-op appointment on Wednesday,  followed by labwork, where they'll likely have to jab me in the hand to get the blood they need. (I have AWFUL veins.)  Assuming that all goes well, I go in bright and early Friday morning, have my surgery, then come home the very same day.  Our buddy Mia is moving in to help take care of Dean for as long as we need her to over the weekend and I intend to take it extremely easy until I feel like I can handle things on my own again.  The timing is great--I go back to work in mid-December, and by then I'll be all healed up and ready to climb the countless flights of stairs from my office in the basement to the rehearsal halls on the main floor.

I have to tell you, and I know I've said it before, I have the best blog friends.  I shared this news with a  couple of my close blogging girl friends last week and they graciously volunteered to take over the site on Friday to keep you updated. Christy will be my point-person, giving real-time updates as she's able.   Frema will be throwing support my way from Indiana while surfing the internet to research locations for a future blog friends getaway because MY MERCY do we need it.

Molly convinced me to  have two people on board for updates. Here's her take on things:

I would like to be your person in the event that you fly the coop prior to hospital check-in.  "Jen could have had her tubes tied," I will report to your readers, "but instead she is eating string cheese...with a tabby cat...named Santiago...in Mexico." 

So there you have it. Check back on Friday for updates. If you hear from Christy, it means all went  well and I'm recovering nicely. If you hear from Molly....who knows. Shannan will update the Twitter universe.

You should also know that Christy thinks I planned my surgery for November so I'd have good blog fodder for NaBloPoMo.  The truth? The world may never know.

Also, feel free to ask me questions.  The main reason I chose to share this with you all is because it will likely help someone at some point.  So ask  away! (And thanks for caring.)

** The only thing I do ask is that if you're a "real-life"  friend (especially if you live in Montevallo) that you  keep this info to yourself. I don't need all  my husband's students asking him how my tubal went. :)

A cup of WHAT??

This past weekend, we visited the Goodwill Store. Marcus was looking for some cheap t-shirts and we always like to look at the book and CD selections there.  Marcus found me a copy of River Road Recipes, a cookbook I remember seeing on my mom and grandma's shelves during my childhood.  The book has dubbed itself "The textbook of Louisiana Cuisine."  I was excited to read it and hoped to be reaquainted with some of the Cajun recipes I grew up eating.

The book was originally published by the Junior League of Baton Rouge in 1959 and has suffered gotten a reprint every year or so since then.  I eagerly started with the salad section.  Before I'd made it even two pages into the book, I was laughing so hard there were tears streaming down my face.  I continued thumbing through, stopping only to laugh and google unknown ingredients.  Here are some of my favorite recipes:

Egg and Chicken Mold. Now I understand the congealed salad craze, really I do. I think they are the nastiest thing ever created, especially when they involve mayonnaise, but I get it. However, could we not find a more catchy name than "mold" for this creation?  When I think of chicken, eggs and mold, "ooh, boy, gotta get me summa that" is not the first thing that pops into my brain.

Aspic.  I had to call my grandma and ask what this was.  She very helpfully said, "It's an aspic!" From what I can find online, an aspic is a savory jelly, which is enough to make me gag.  (Click the link...a guy will pronounce it for you.)  My favorite aspic recipe was for Tomato Soup Salad, which included the subtitle, "Men like it."  I'll tell you it contains 2 cans of condensed tomato soup and a cup of mayonnaise and leave the rest to your imagination.

Baked Cushaw.  Do you know what a cushaw is?  I didn't either.

Green Salad for 70 people.  Not 50. Not 75.  70 people.  18 heads of iceberg lettuce, 5 bunches of parsley, chopped, and 4 quarts of salad dressing.  Mmmmm, mmm. (NOT)

Actually, the more I look through here, the more recipes I see for feeding giant crowds, like "Remoulade for 100 people" and "Vegetable Galore."

My biggest laughs came from some of the titles of recipes, such as:

• Toad in Hole (We call it Eggs in a Basket)
• Cheese Mold (hahahaha)
• Woodcock (it's a nasty looking version of rotel cheese dip involving Worchestire sauce and raw eggs)
• City Chicken (funny because that's what my husband called pigeons when we lived in NYC )
• Oysters Johnny Reb
• Beer Chicken Jambalaya (the person who originally owned this book scribbled "With Beer" next to the recipe)
• Coon a la Delta (Yep. RAcoon.)
• Squirrel Pie
• Foamy Sauce

The desserts look fantastic, especially the ones for coconut pie.

But don't worry.  I won't be featuring any of my "favorites" for Comfort Food Saturday any time soon.

OUCH with a side of EW

It started out innocently enough.  It was Monday evening, the 5th of July, and we'd just returned home from a rollicking good weekend at my parents' house.  Marcus had rehearsal, so we decided to go to Wendy's for a quick dinner before going our separate ways for the evening.  I was jazzed about getting a taco salad, one of my favorite fast food meals EVER.  I get it every time we go to Wendy's. I can't even tell you the last time I looked at a Wendy's menu, in fact, because we always get the same thing:  Taco Salad for me, "Lady Burger" combo for Marcus (my pet name for his Single, no cheese, with ketchup, mustard and pickles ONLY), and hamburger kids' meal with oranges and milk for Dean.  I approached the register, which was being run by a trainee named Britney, who had a less-than-pleasant attitude, and began spouting off our order.  Rufus, the manager training Britney, looked at me like I'd sprouted an extra head and said,"Ma'am, we don't have a taco salad." Um, WHAT?  "We have a Baja Salad, but not a taco salad."  Now, we ate at Wendy's on June 9, which was the day we returned from vacation, and guess what I had?  TACO SALAAAAAD!  So I was all, "HUH?  When did this happen?" and Rufus was all, "Uh, I think a couple of weeks ago" and I was all "Why did no one contact me!?!?  I haven't even seen a commercial about this!" which led Rufus to ensure me that I'd like the Baja Salad, especially the red jalepeno dressing. (NOTE TO SELF:  Next time someone offers you red jalepeno dressing, BACK AWAY!)

Anyway, Rufus talked me in to trying the Baja Salad and it only took Britney 7 tries to ring it up on the register.  It looked ok, mesclun greens covered with raw tomatoes (GAG), chili and a giant blob of incorrectly-colored guacamole.  I was not presented with tortilla strips, much to my disappointment, but Britney threw in an extra packet of red jalepeno dressing for good measure, I suppose.  Long story short, it was nasty.  I do not recommend it.  Bring back the Taco Salad.

Dean and I were so disgruntled by our dining experience (his hamburger was literally drowning in mustard) that we didn't even get a Frosty.  When we arrived home, he bolted for the backyard.  We spent some time playing on the deck with some rocks he'd found,then he headed over to Marcus's boat.  Just as he reached for the hitch, I saw a wasp swarm at his little baby head.  I scooped him up and swatted him pretty hard on the side of the head just as a wasp stung the fire out of my knee.  Dean was screaming, I was screaming, wasps were swarming, so I started running (very hard to do in flip-flops carrying a 30 pound child and limping).  We ran inside and straight upstairs, where I grabbed the phone and did all I could think to do while I checked Dean's head for a sting:  I called BJ the Manny.  Marcus was already in Birmingham and I was terrified I was going to go into shock and die or something.  Dean suddenly stopped crying and jumped off the bed to go and play with my robe, so I figured he must be ok. (plus, I never found a sting on him)  Meanwhile, poor BJ was driving like a maniac to get to us because here's what I told him:

Hi, I need you to come over NOW! Some wasps attacked us and I think I'm allergic and my EpiPen isn't here and...there just needs to be another adult here!

I put a cold washcloth onto my sting, then flicked the stinger out with a gift card. And  OH MY GOD PAAAIN.  I was sure I felt wasp poison travelling up my leg and I assumed it would make its way to my throat eventually.  I took a Benadryl and prepared myself for respiratory distress. Finally, BJ burst through the front door screaming "LET'S GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"  I told him I thought I was ok, considering shock had not yet set in.  He then bolted to the kitchen and came back with a box of baking soda, which he proceeded to pour onto my sting because apparently it didn't hurt QUITE bad enough. (Very thankful I'd shaved my legs that morning.)  After a while, the enormous bump began to stop pulsing, the sharp pains got less and less, and the Benadryl kicked in.  BJ insisted on staying with us until Marcus got home, which was good since the Benadryl kicked in! (Was loopy! Should have blogged then!)

It's 3 days later now and the sting itches like you would not believe. Every time I get a little twinge or pain on the left side of my body, I'm sure it's wasp poison trying to kill me, but Marcus disagrees. All I know is we bought the biggest can of wasp and hornet spray you can find and they are going DOWN. (Marcus will be doing the spraying, of course.)

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What did YOU get for Christmas?

We got...the stomach flu!  Actually, it was an evil stomach virus from the devil himself.  At one point, my dad asked "Am I going to pass away?" To which I replied, "I hope not...you're sleeping in my bed."  Dean woke up the morning of the 23rd projectile vomitting, but felt better by about 2 that afternoon. In fact, my parents took him to the park, then we all had dinner at Cracker Barrel.  Marcus started feeling funky Christmas Eve afternoon.  Just before dinner, I got queasy, but rallied until bedtime, when I finally had to give it up.  Dad got so sick in the middle of the night that he had to go to the ER at 3am.  Mom was fine. (Which is odd, seeing as she, the transplant patient, has virtually no immune system.) She kept telling us "I just don't get stomach viruses."  Famous last words.  She got it Christmas night.  So, needless to say, it was NOT the Christmas we'd hoped for.  My dad doesn't even remember us opening gifts and thought yesterday was Christmas day.  I kept having to take gift-opening breaks to sit down with my head between my legs.  Poor Dean had boundless energy, so we took turns keeping him entertained--whomever felt the best at any given moment played with him and his new toys.  Instead of our traditional turkey dinner, we all had dry toast.  But at least we had each other, right?  RIGHT.  Marcus and I felt much better yesterday and I woke up starving.  The first thing I want to eat after I've been sick is pizza, so we ordered one. It was wonderful . This morning I had a divine cup of coffee, so I think we're on the mend. Mom and Dad headed back home and Marcus and I have been deodorizing th house and doing many loads of laundry.  We've got to get Dean outside today lest he get cabin fever and wreck the joint.

Here are some pictures of the better parts of our holiday!  Regardless of all the ick and sick, Dean had a great time. It was such fun to see the magic in his eyes, especially when Santa paid a surprise visit on Christmas Eve, riding down our street on the fire truck to make sure everyone was being nice:

Dean was SO excited!

Santa paid him another visit while he was sleeping, leaving some pretty fantastic loot:

My camera battery just died, or else I"d show you a picture of our display that we've been working on. I'll post a picture later. We learned something new about Christmas each day and made a little craft or colored a picture about it.  Dean's favorites included "The Wise Men brought gifts to Baby Jesus,"  "Santa says 'ho ho ho'" and "We wear Christmas pajamas."  Our mantle is lined with our little projects and topped with holiday cards, many of which include pictures of some of our favorite people. 

I'd say despite the illness, it was still a pretty good Christmas.  Now we have a birthday party to plan for Mr. I'm-About-To-Be-2!

 I hope you and yours had a very Merry Christmas!
 
 

Family Thanksgivin'

Like Chicken and Dumplin's, Thanksgivin' doesn't have a G on the end in the south.

Before I was born, my dad's mom's side of the family all got together at my great-grandparents' house for a huge family Thanksgiving.  My grandma has two sisters and they each have kids who have kids, so the house was usually pretty full.  I only remember a few  of these celebrations, as I was only about 4 when my great-grandmother passed away and they dwindled down a bit after that, but I've heard the tales and seen the pictures.  When I was about 9 or 10, we met for another big one. I orgnanized my cousins and put on a play on the back porch. We did two performances, if I remember correctly.

When I was 22 and a first-year graduate student at Alabama, the family decided to rally together and have one last big family Thanksgiving at the house.  My great-grandfather had passed away about two years before and my aunt had been living in their house.  Marcus was finishing up college in Louisiana, so he wasn't able to make a quick trip home to Virginia for Thanksgiving. He ended up coming with me and experiencing THANKSGIVIN' first-hand. 

I think I've told you my family's kinda crazy. This is the same grandma, by the way, who thought we had green bean casserole and a whole turkey every year.  The scary part is, I think she may be the most normal one of her generation.  Her father was a trip. A TRIP.  He dropped out of school when he was 8 to help work the cotton fields and ended up owning his own grocery store as an adult.  He was one of the hardest workers I've ever met and the vegetables out of his garden have spoiled me forever.  But even he had his moments.  My grandmother's youngest sister was married for several years to a man named Johnny.  Actually, two of her husbands were named Johnny, but this was the second one.  Now Johnny was the epitome of a good ol' boy.  He used to tell all of us that he didn't eat chicken because he'd eaten so much wild chicken in Vietnam that he could no longer stomach poultry.  He also told us great stories about working on the Alaska pipeline.  Imagine our surprise years later when we found out he'd never left the tiny Mississippi town where he was born. 

One fine day, my great-grandfather decided his cat was constipated. I'm not 100% sure how you tell a cat is constipated, but ok.  Oh, I forgot to mention that his name was Pervie Lester (my great-grandpa, not th cat). Somehow, that makes this story funnier.  Anywho, the poor kitty is constipated, so P.L. (what he went by) enslists Johnny as his assistant and sets out to help the cat.  Now most normal people would call the vet and maybe throw a little ex-lax into the kitty's food.  Not my family.  The plan was to catch the cat, put it's head in a boot and give it a Fleet enema.   Take a moment to picture it.  Ok, ready?  Good. So Johnny holds the boot while P.L. shoves this poor cat's head down into it and proceeds to give it AN ENTIRE enema.  They said when they were done, Johnny dropped the boot and the cat, boot on head, started spinning around, spraying a most foul concoction from it's rear.  But at least he wasn't constipated anymore, right?  GAH.

I tell you that story to let you know the kind of people we're dealing with here.

So Marcus and I arrive at the house for the big Thanksgivin'.  My cousin is there with her new husband who is rich and thinks he's above all of us.  My other set of cousins comes decked out in camo because they're going huntin' (also without a G) as soon as they get a belly full of turkey. There's enough food there to feed a small country, including 3 pans of my great-grandma's special dressing, one made by my grandma and one by each of her sisters. (competitive much?)  My dad was kind of giving Marcus the stink-eye because he was a guy dating his daughter.  It was louder than most football stadiums.  And that was just the kitchen.

After a while, my cousin who's 11 months older than me came up and told me that my aunt who lived in the house was expecting her dog to die soon.  A little backstory--my aunt and Johnny had a pekingese named Honey who lived for 16 years and liked to eat steak.  When Honey died of cancer (common with that breed), my aunt bought a miniature casket and buried Honey in the backyard.  Well, her new puppy, Peabo, was also diagnosed with cancer and on his last legs at that point.  My cousin just KNEW she had another miniature casket somewhere in the house, so we set out to find it.  In retrospect, I probably should have told Marcus what we were looking for, but I just told him to come with me. And he did,  probably to get away from my dad's stink-eye and my freaky cousin Boo who was trying to pick him up. We poked around for a while, then hit the jackpot in the front living room.  Now we were all in our twenties at this point, but that room still terrified us.  When we were growing up, P.L. would tell us stories of Old Lady Graines, an old witch who lived in his attic. The attic was accessible through the coat closet in the living room.  After five minutes of heated debate between my cousin, my uncle and me, it was decided that Marcus would be the one to open the Old Lady Graines closet.  When he did, he came face to face with Peabo's final resting place--a mother-of-pearl miniature casket. 

It really is a wonder he ever married me at all.