So, we had one of those horrific visits to the ER on Sunday night.  Blood, gore, screaming… I promise to tell the whole story, but my real question is this:

Why aren’t there bars in the pediatric units of emergency rooms?

I don’t care if it’s a cash bar. That seems reasonable in today’s health care world.  But make the liquor immediately available to parents of children in pain.  OR cough up some of those narcotics. You could wheel the bar into the room just like you wheel in the X-ray machine and the damned computer for all of your questions and reports.  Wheel in the liquor cart. Not so difficult.

If you seriously want me to hold my child down while you inflict severe pain on her, then give me something to get through it, as well. Dammit.

So, here’s the story…

Allie CRUSHED her toe (to use the doctor’s words) with a bowling pin. (Yes, we had a bowling pin in our house. Long story.) The bleeding was instantaneous and her nail essentiall popped right off.  She was screaming and shaking — going into shock — so Dave had to drive us all to the ER. (Couldn’t really leave Delaney at home, so we all ended up in the ER.) The pin basically split the skin of her toe in two but didn’t break the bone, thank goodness. If her toe was California, the gash was the San Andreas fault line.

So, she had to get three shots in her toe just to deaden it so that they could give her five stitches — three are UNDER her toenail — and then they had to sew the toenail back on. Yes, the kid had crushed her toe and as if that weren’t enough, they stuck three needles into it, including under the nail.

At one point, I was trying to hold her down and block her line of vision to her foot when the doc asked me to turn around and ‘look at something.’ (See how I’m bringing this back around to the alcohol part?)  I looked and the man had Allie’s toenail in his hand.  He then proceeded to say, “There are two lines of thought on what to do with the toenail.  Leave it on or leave it off.” During this little tutorial, he proceeded to place the nail on her toe, which was surrounded by bloody cloths, and remove it. Put it on. Take it off.  I barely remember saying, “Do what you think is best,” before turning back around to face my traumatized 6-year-old.

So, I hereby submit this suggestion to ER departments around the country — and I do believe it could be a significant money-maker — open up a bar in your pediatric unit.  At the very LEAST, send a bottle of something home with Mom and Dad.  We deserve it!

I am GRUMPY, y’all.  Seriously.  There seems to be no color left in the world, I woke up to SNOW (can someone please let the person in charge know that it is almost May and this is total crap?), I’m cold and there is more laundry setting up camp in my living room than I can humanly face.

I don’t want you to think I’m a defeatist. I’m really trying here people.  I exercised, I showered, I even shaved my legs.  The day still looked like something described in “The Road” (By the way, I don’t suggest you read it unless you want to pour lemon juice on open wounds all day- JUST TO FEEL BETTER), so I put on a bright red sweater.  Considerably under-whelmed by the cheerful effect, I added in some chartreuse lipstick which happens to clash fabulously with the sweater.  I look like someone accidentally dropped me in the clown car at the circus. Since I personally think clowns are wrong and creepy, I plan to wear it when I pick up the girls at school- just for the fun of watching them all cringe in fear.

I want sunshine and warm breezes and open windows.  I’d like a chance to put my new sunscreen to the test. You know that opening scene in The Sound of Music where Julie Andrews twirls around with her arms wide open, the hills alive and whatnot?  I want THAT. 

I have to confess, too, that half (maybe more) of my doldrums has to do with a current idiotic experiment- limiting caffeine to one cup a day.  OH NO YOU DIDN’T!, I hear you cry.  Yes, in fact, I did.  It’s been about a week.  You may notice that I have also not posted anything in about a week. Hmmmm… coincidence, Watson?  I think not.

I don’t know how much longer I can take it.  Sure, it’s all well and good in theory.  I was crashing every afternoon when my morning java extravaganza wore off and then all my mid-day hits were giving me trouble sleeping at night.  BUT I LOVE MY COFFEE.  I miss it.  I feel abandoned, bereft.  I’ve been drinking the decaf but that just feels like drinking tonic water in a bar when everyone else is up to their ears in cocktails.  It’s fine at first, but as the night goes on my find that your laugh starts to sound a little brittle and you’ve got crazy eyes and everyone starts to fear for their safety- or at least the safety of their drinks.

Not that I’ve given it any thought.

And so, in summary, I have nothing important to share except 1) garish lipstick does not a happy camper make, 2) We will never know what Be-Happy-And-Light-Up-The-World Oprah was thinking when she put “The Road” on her Reading List, 3) my obsession with Julie Andrews knows no bounds, and finally 4) IwantmycoffeebackIwantitnowandifyougetinmywayyouwillREGRETITFOREVER.

Thanks much. Have a lovely day.

I’m laughing just a little bit at the vague memory I have of waking up on this Monday morning and internally congratulating myself on being more on the ball than I usually am on Mondays.

Laughing because that was an easy thought to have when my feet haven’t even hit the floor. Three and a half hours later, here I sit pounding out a post about the petty dramas that have reminded me why I stay home.

They include:

1. Remembering waaaaay too late that since Rob has left waaaaay early this morning and the boys aren’t going to magically poof themselves to school (oh if only),  it must be me that needs to get them there.

2. Racing back up to school 5 minutes after returning home from drop-off because it was apparent that Ryan had mistakenly believed that today was Funny Hat Day instead of Favorite Sports Day (being that this week is Spirit Week at school). For those of you rolling your eyes at the idea that maybe I’m channeling my inner helicopter, just let me ask…would you let YOUR sons show up to school in Santa hats when the rest of the kids were dressed in sports uniforms? No, I didn’t think so. Pull those eyeballs back in place.

3. Having a 15 minute conversation up at the school with one of the teachers while repeatedly being smacked in the face by autistic four year old son who, by the way, is barefoot and in his pajamas.

4. Realizing when I get back home that I had said conversation with teacher before I’d bothered to pick up a toothbrush this morning (or a shower, mind you, but I’ve kind of gotten over the idea that I need to look fresh faced and put together at all times, it actually has been the one New Year’s resolution I’ve stuck with).

5. Growling with frustration after realizing that in the previous two trips to the elementary school, I’d neglected to bring up the pasta salad that I’d promised to donate for the Teacher Appreciation Luncheon. Back I go. At least this time Adam is dressed and wearing shoes, but oops, I realize as I pull back into my garage, I still haven’t brushed my teeth.

6. Absentmindedly allowing Adam to add Strawberry Milkshake Oreos to his breakfast buffet so that I could get on the computer and take care of Ryan’s overdrafted lunch account.

7. Shaking my head at my math skills as I later compute that the amount I added to his overdrafted lunch account brings the amount left to use to $1.15. Oh well, that should cover a couple breadsticks or something, right?

All of the above has drawn me to this conclusion…

I am physically and mentally incapable of  holding any job where I am not my own boss or where anyone other than myself or my children has any expectations of me.

I have no illusions here…

Happy Monday to all and to all a typical Monday.

I heard on the radio today, during my enragingly-long commute avoiding NASCAR wannabes and distracted cell-phone talkers (what do they talk about that often???), that the Federal government is passing legislation about cloning, as in when cloning is ‘OK’ and when it’s not. 

I’d like to chime in that it’s definitely ‘OK’ to clone me, or moms in general!

I spent 12 hours in a meeting today (my rear-end was loudly complaining after the first 2 hours).  I’m trying to coordinate a visa and a new passport for my son who’s going to Paris (!!!) for college in a mere 4 months.  I have two birthday parties to schedule.  I’m still trying to learn my new job.  I’m trying to figure out the emotional angst that caused my older daughter to dare my younger one to pee on the bedroom carpet.  I’m cleaning up puppy chew and other, nastier items.  I try to get a 5 minute conversation in with my husband over the span of a week.  I try to keep in contact with friends and family, some of whom have probably forgotten what I look like at this point in time.  I also manage, as you can empathize with, the million other details that we do, every day, in the high-demanding job of ‘Mom’.

I need a clone.  I need several clones. 

Maybe one of my clones can petition Washington for me…I sure don’t have time to do it

We as parents have to come to terms with the fact that our lives change as our children grow. Gone are the days of watching what I want on television, making phone calls during the day, and taking my time in the bathroom. At the top of the list of things I will never experience again, is privacy… and maybe even dignity!

A good friend shared a story with me several months ago, that still has me laughing when I think of it. She, like every other mother of a toddler is used to having company while she uses the bathroom. She is used to the prying eyes of her little one watching her every move. What she wasn’t expecting was to have her son pass her a tampon and say ”Here Momma, put this in your butt!”

Since then, I’ve been keenly aware that while in the bathroom with 2, sometimes 3 other people, there is no such thing as being discreet. There is no such thing as privacy. They notice everything, and will bring it up with very little regard to how it may make me feel.

Let’s talk about the time that I left the room to go the bathroom, telling the girls I would be right back. Saniya shouted down the hall after me “Is it gonna be red today Mommy??” That wouldn’t have been so bad, if my Brother-in-Law and his friends weren’t sitting right there when she said it.

It’s been some time now, and I’m almost over it. I no longer have anxiety attacks when I see him, so that’s good.