Girl vs. Boy

     My thoughts on life have changed enormously since having children. I once believed that girls could do anything boys could do. But now that I have a son of my own, I stand corrected. I have personally never urinated on the shirt I was wearing.
     As I reflect on this idea, I suppose that I could if I had some sort of hose contraption or funnel. Or maybe if I were wearing a mullet type of shirt and it fell into the toilet, okay maybe then. But I am not talking about a shirt that was near the toilet, this shirt was on my son's body at the time and I am pretty sure that he soaked the collar as well.
     Miles, who may never speak to me again should he ever read this story, occasionally calls me into the restroom. Most of the time he calls so I can help him out with number two, but there are times when something has gone miserably wrong and a wet shirt was definitely one of those times.
     As I walked into the bathroom, I saw him sitting on the pot crying. Apparently, he had sat down to go number two but forgot to push his you know what down. The thing was pointing straight up and soaked his entire shirt outfit. And once his penis started shooting up he pushed it down which caused him to not only soak his shirt but his underwear, pants and socks too. What a mess. What makes this story worse is that it was a band night. Miles wears a white button up dress shirt and a pair of black dress pants every time he watches my dad's band play and that night, he was dressed to kill.
     I pulled my sobbing boy from his throne of shame and cleaned him up the best I could. Then I hand washed his sacred outfit and blow dried it with my hand dryer. We where short on time and I had to improvise.
     When we were finally ready to go, he was smiling and so was I. He had his band outfit spit shined and I had just been proven wrong, apparently girls can't do everything guys can do. And in this case, thank goodness.

I'm late, I'm sorry

     How many times does a person have to utter this statement before they get better at time management? In my case, the answer is unknown. In my defense, I came into this world three weeks late so when I say I was born that way, I mean it. That being said, I have been trying to get better. I used to be a half an hour late and now it's more like ten to fifteen minutes.
    This past weekend, my girlfriend/sister Angie had her Minnesota wedding reception. She and her now husband Jon had a small ceremony in Florence Italy in May then organized a larger celebration in July. And by larger celebration I mean a picnic in Minneapolis on Friday night, the wedding reception at the Walker Art Museum on Saturday night and a pool party on Sunday afternoon. As you can see, they are serious party people.
     On Friday night, my kids and I stayed at the picnic until 10pm. Their normal bedtime is around 9:00 so ten o'clock was not that late. The truth is, my kids have always behaved well after hours. I'm not sure why they don't fall apart like the average kid but they don't so I embrace my luck. Of course, I didn't want to push my luck the next day so we laid low to save our energy for the reception.
     I know that my time management stinks, so I planned to be ready by 5:30 to make our 6:15 deadline. Well, getting two kids and a myself ready for a wedding proved to be harder than I thought so we ended up leaving the house at 5:45. The museum was about a twenty-five minute drive then we had to park and walk to our destination. Man, we were going to be late.
     On a side note, when we arrived at the paybox parking lot, I heard a woman yelling, "ma'am! Ma'am!" I turned around to see if she was talking to me and she was. "I have a ticket that is good until tomorrow morning. Do you want it?"
     "Of course I do! Thank you so much."
     As the kids and I dragged our stuff to the museum doors I must have explained ten different times why we didn't have to pay for parking. My kids were very confused with the event that had unfolded.
     "So we get to stay overnight?" asked my daughter.
     "No," I replied. "Our ticket is good until tomorrow but we are going home tonight."
     "Then why do we have a ticket that will let us stay overnight?"
     "We could but we won't."
     "Why not?"
     "Because."
     "Because why?"
     "Hey, look kids, a horse and carriage." Thank you horses for saving me.
     When we reached our destination, there was a woman waiting at the entrance of the reception hall. "Are you Angie?" she asked politely.
     Oh man, I must be late if they are waiting on me. "Yes," I replied sheepishly.
     "Well come this way," she said directing my kids and me inside. "Here is a closet for all of your things."
     "Great. Thank you."
     "And this is Sara from D'Amico's. She will be handling all of the catering."
     "Hi, nice to meet you." Wow, what an introduction.
     Then we walked into the modern reception hall where I saw the rest of the bridal party. I waved but my attention was still on host. "When would you like us to start serving the Champagne?"
     I looked at her with my wheels turning. Oh, oops! I thought. Then I started laughing.
     When the host approached me at the door and asked if I was Angie, she believed that I was Angie the bride, not Angie the late bridesmaid. I felt a tad bit embarrassed but ultimately excepted the misunderstanding as my punishment for being late, again.  
     

The Hospital?

     So, I have been on a little hiatus. It wasn't a planned adventure that's for sure. It all started in the early hours of my daughter's sixth birthday. Luckily she was staying with her dad for the weekend but it still saddened me to be sick on the day I brought her into this world. After fours hours of non-stop...um...well...I guess I will just say it...diarrhea, I called my nurse hotline. Let's just say that they were more than concerned with possible dehydration and blood loss I reported. I was encouraged to head to the emergency room as soon as possible which made me feel worse. I can't say that I am proud of this but I am a terrible patient. I hate feeling sick. Yeah, yeah who doesn't, but I mean it, when I feel physically sick worry sets in and things just snowball out of control.

     I gathered my phone and my purse, looked at my sick ass self in the mirror (I really could have used some make-up) and made a run for the car after a quick bathroom break. It was about 7:30 in the morning and I had been up since 3:30 doing my business if you will so I was tired. I managed to call my sister on my drive to the hospital to tell her where I was going in case people were looking for me.

     Two minutes later my phone rang and I noticed that it was my second mother Kathy calling. As much as I didn't want to worry anyone, I answered her call. She was so concerned that she dropped her plans and decided to meet me at the hospital. What a sweet person. I knew that I would have to call my mom, who was at the cabin, after I talked to Kathy. They have been best friends for years so the word would get to her sooner or later. Her initial thoughts were to come home but I convinced her to wait and see what the doctors had to say before doing anything irrational.

     I entered the ER and was happy to see that it was a slow day. Of course, the fact that I was losing blood sent me straight to the front of the line anyway. I was escorted back to explain my situation but once the doctors heard that I had been overseas the month before, I was immediately put in isolation. They were afraid that I had contracted some kind of contagious infection and didn't want to spread it around.

     I could not believe what was happening. The day before I was playing in a golf tournament and twelve hours later I was quarantined.

     I was seen by two nurses and a doctor right away for an initial examination. I explained my symptoms and that I was a bad patient. They found my honesty somewhat amusing. And then I was informed that a CT scan was necessary. Great, I did not have time to be this sick. I had planned my daughter's birthday party for the next day and invited thirty guests. I explained my worried to Kathy and my nurse but then remembered.
     "Maybe I can't host a party when I'm running to the toilet every ten minutes."
     The nursed laughed and replied, "you would be a serious party pooper."
     Kathy and I laughed at his joke that was so wrong it was funny.
     After my CT scan the doctors informed me that my colon was inflamed and since I was still bleeding and having pain, I would have to stay over night in the hospital.
     No!! I thought. I want to go home.
     Then I said allowed, "no...can't I just go home?"
     The doctor smirked and replied, "do you think you can manage your pain by yourself?"
     I thought about the two doses of morphine I had had in the last five hours and replied, "no."
     "I didn't think so," he said smugly yet in a caring manner.
     As the doctor's prepared my new room, Kathy said good-bye and said that she would stop by later. Then I decided it was time to call my parents back. They were so concerned by the news of my hospital stay that they decided to come home and help me with my kids. I also chose to cancel my daughter's birthday party but my lovely mother hosted a smaller version with my family, Kathy's family and my best friend Stacy's family. It was still a good size party with twenty guests excluding the birthday girl's mama.
     My kids were worried about their mom as you can imagine. Since Stacy's kids attended the party, they were often preoccupied but my sisters said that they were pretty clingy to all of the adult women in the room.
     I felt so bad for my babies. It must have been so scary for them to have a sick mom. And as bummed as I was to be hospitalized, I was thankful to have such supportive friends and family.
     To keep my sanity, Stacy visited me while the party was in full force. She was my third guest after Kathy and my parents and it was nice to see her smiling face. The best part was that Stace had just completed her RD license, registered dietitian, and the knowledge she retained from her residency was still fresh in her mind so she helped answer some of my questions about infections and diet where digestion was concerned.
     The following day doctors still did not know what was wrong with me so I had to stay a third day in the hospital and wait for the results of my culture to come back. I called my parents to inform them of my fate and they seemed as stressed out as I was. As a way to control anything, my mom decided to bring my kids up to see me. They were so worried about me and just wanted to see their mama.
     I was just a desperate to see them but I looked like hell. I immediately called my nurse and found my way into the shower. I put on street clothes and a sweatshirt to cover up my IV. A needle in my arm would probably have put my kids over the edge.
     A half an hour after the phone call with my mom, I heard a knock on the door. It was my babies. They looked so scared as they entered my room. Their eyes were as large dinner plates and I didn't see a smile on either their faces. I opened my arms and said, "come here you too."
     They hesitated for a few seconds then both ran to me and gave me a huge hug. I was in heaven. Nola handed me a vase full of flowers and a card she had made. And then Miles handed over his card but kept hugging me, he's such a sensitive little man.
     I thanked them for thinking of me and for visiting me. It took about ten minutes for them to relax and once they did the remote for my bed and the television became a point of interest. I told them that I would do my best to come home the next day but that was wishful thinking because the following day I got the results of my culture, negative.
     "Negative? What does that mean? I asked.
     "Well, you do not have a contagious infection," replied the doctor, "so we can take you out of isolation."
     "Okay, that is good right?" I asked.
     "Yes, but we still don't know what's going on so you are going to need to have a colonoscopy. We believe that you have a form of colitis. We've narrowed it down to ischemic or ulcerative colitis."
     I had heard of colitis but did not know that their were different kinds of it.
     "A colonoscopy will help us to determine which kind you have and how to help you."
     I was not excited to have a colonoscopy but I wanted some results and if that was the course of action so be it. That being said, I had to stay one more day in the hospital. Ahhhh!!!!
     And by the way, the colonoscopy sucked. It hurt so bad. I must have been immune to the pain meds they gave me because I felt every twist and turn of that damn scope. My only good news was that my babies were going to visit me again. I did the same routine by showering and putting on my street clothes. And this time, I asked the nurse if I could meet them downstairs instead of freaking them out by coming to my room. She said that she would check with the doctor.
     The doctor decided to play a trick on me and had the nurse tell me that I had to stay in my room until I was discharged. I looked at the nurse sadly when she relayed the message and accepted the response. She laughed and said, "just kidding."
     "You're horrible!" I shouted with a laugh.
     She apologized for the joke and blamed it one hundred percent on the doctor.
     When my mom and kids called me I told them to meet me downstairs. We ate dinner and chatted. I mean they ate dinner and I sucked on some rice. The first two days in the hospital I went without food and the third day I was allowed oatmeal and rice.
     My son sat on my lap, desperate to be close to his mom, and my daughter sat across from me and looked up my sleeve, "what's that?" she asked.
     I gave her a sly smile, "that's an IV," I replied. I was hoping that Miles didn't hear me and luckily he didn't because he was more focused on eating his food.
     "I need that for medicine, babe."
     Instead of being scared, she seemed proud to know something that Miles did not.
     My fourth day in the hospital was my last because the results were in and they were good. I had ischemic colitis. It is a temporary colitis that heals itself and should not occur again, if I am lucky. They were not certain what caused the blood clot in my colon but the augmentin I had been on for a sinus infection was most likely the culprit. 
     I left the hospital excited to see my babies, my friends and my family. My healing process would take a few weeks but there were a few good things that occurred. I received some much needed rest and relaxation during my four day stay in the hospital and I lost about seven pounds. I would not recommend the colitis route for weight loss but I needed to focus on something positive from the  unfortunate situation that took four days of my life.

Shaving Blunder

     I think we can all agree that mothers are busy people. And busy people have to prioritize their daily tasks by importance. On my to do list, shaving and ironing are on the bottom. Of course, shaving moves up a little higher in the summer months for obvious reasons.
     Last summer, my parents hosted a party weekend at their cabin. Since we were going to be on the lake, I decided that for everyone's sake, I would shave my body, it was the least I could do.
     Once settled, we all boarded the pontoon boat and cruised around the lake. I was feeling relaxed and my kids were happy. Miles was driving the boat with my dad and Nola was hanging with the girls, it was a good day.
     I stretched my arms out on the back of the bench seat, took in the fresh air and talked to my friend and his daughter. Later, I joined another conversation which inspired me to tell a funny story. For dramatic effect, I used my entire body to explain myself and although people laughed, they also looked a bit nervous. I didn't think much of it but noted the nervousness.
     In time, I made my way to the back of the boat where I held my son for a while and eventually noticed a surprising site. I had neglected to shave my arm pits. Now on a normal woman, it would just be stubble, but on me, a busy mother of two, it was slightly rug-like.
     "Oh," I said. "It looks like I forgot to shave my armpits."
     "Yeah, we noticed," replied almost every girl on the boat.
     I was a little embarrassed but hey, it happens. This is where my friend Annie chimed in. "We noticed it when you were in the front talking to Luke. Your arms were stretched out and your hair was blowing in the wind. Then you started to tell that animated story and we got nervous. Your legs were moving and we were afraid that you would expose your untamed bikini area."
     "Is that why you all seemed to wince?" I asked.
     They all laughed hysterically, "Yes!"
     Well, luckily for all of my onlookers, I had shaved every part of me except my arm pits. I must have been distracted during the two minutes I had to myself in the shower. It's all just part of being a mom!
     

Popper is Funny too!

     Before my daughter could speak, she would strum an air guitar when addressing my dad. This gesture was appropriate because of his position as the lead guitarist of his band. Once she could speak, my dad would strum, point at himself and say grand-pa-pa. Nola did her best to imitate him which is where the term Popper was born. My son has carried on the tradition of the name and I expect that my sisters' future children will do the same.

     Adding to that, my kids adore Popper. He is a great grandfather to them and is greeted by screams of joy and hugs when my kids are near him. And his laid back attitude and positive outlook on life are contagious. For these reasons, if my dad ever seems stressed at any level, it is noteworthy, which is why this next story has to be told.

     This past weekend my kids were the flower girl and ring bearer in my cousin's wedding. And as any mother's luck would have it, Miles started to fall apart a few hours before the rehearsal and groom's dinner. I had to act quickly and by doing so, I decided that my only option was to nap him and be late. A late ring bearer had to be better than a crabby one. To save a little face, my parents decided to bring Nola along with them, at least one of my kids would be early.

     My parents actually left two hours early because the had to pick up my dad's tuxedo across town, in traffic and through Minnesota road construction. They needed extra time. Of course, we all found it extremely ironic that Miles and I arrived earlier than everyone.

     Apparently, the traffic and construction was far worse than my parents anticipated leaving them on countless back roads and detours that caused major frustration. Nola approached me at the church and said, "Popper was pretty mad in the car. He hit the steering wheel with his hand and said something like shhh..., I don't know actually, it was something with a shhh..."

     I tried not to laugh for many reasons. I was happy that the shhh... word was not part of her vocabulary, I knew that my dad must have been really lost to hit the steering wheel and Nola knew that if Popper was mad, something must be wrong.

     My dad's face turned a bright shade of red when I brought up the conversation. He backpedaled a bit and tried to explain the frustration he felt being lost and then eventually late. I truly did not blame my dad for his accidental outburst, I've known him my whole life and he is usually very even tempered. This was why I had to tell my mom, sisters and brother-in-law about the incident. When a laid back guy like my dad loses control, the humor of the situation must be embraced.

Rules

     What do you think when you hear the word rules? Do you get a warm, fuzzy feeling? Probably not. But rules aren't all bad, are they? For instance, traffic laws are necessary or your favorite sport or game couldn't be played without them, or how about rules to physics or mathematics, those have come in handy. I'm building up a case to defend myself can you tell?
     As a parent, I have created many rules for my children to follow. Have I done this as a strict dictator on a power trip? Not at all, they are put in place to keep the peace, to have organization and for safety's sake. Which brings me to the topic of the day: Bike safety and general road safety.
     Bike safety is important and I'm not just talking about helmets. An awareness of one's surroundings is vital when taking to the streets or in my kids sake, going on a bike ride...with their mom. I actually could not wait for my kids to be old enough to ride a bike further than the driveway. And as luck would have it, last year was our inaugural ride.
     I souped up my kids bikes, put on their helmets and started down the driveway. "Stop at the bottom of the driveway and look for cars," I said as if casually reminding them of something they already knew.
     "Okay, Mom!" they yelled as cute as can be.
     "Wait! Stop! You didn't look!" I hollered.
     My two kids slowly stopped their bikes, in the middle of the road mind you, and shot me looks of confusion. They had no idea how to look for cars and for some reason, I thought that my three and five year old children instinctively possessed a sense of bike riding. Well, I was wrong.
     So, like any good parent, I taught them the rules: stop, look and listen. I also repeated them every time we went biking. And every time I did, my daughter would say, "We know, Mom." In her defense, she did know them but there was a loop hole in her understanding. My daughter believed that she only needed to look the first time she biked from the driveway to the street. I couldn't believe it, after all of my coaching and talk of getting hit by a car and how much that it would hurt to get hit by a car, she didn't know that she had to look every time she entered the street.
     Eventually, we worked out a system where the kids were allowed to enjoy bike adventures as long as they could tolerate mom's rule reminders. Now everyone is happy, more or less.
     I also transferred these rules to the ever popular ball in road dilemma after witnessing my daughter run straight in front of my neighbor's car. Luckily the neighbor was paying attention and she was not hurt but I nearly had a heart attack. I sat both kids down and did my best to explain that they need to think of their safety first and then the ball.
     "You are more important than a ball. You first, then the ball. You," I pointed at them and held up one finger, "ball." I held up two fingers on my other hand.
     Yes, they laughed and thought mom was funny, but a few weeks later, I got word that my little speech had in fact impacted my babies.
     My sister had been playing soccer with them in the front yard of my parent's cabin. Let me set this up for you, my parent's cabin is located in rural, northern Minnesota, once you are about a half of a mile from the cabin you drive on a dirt road which takes you to another dirt road that leads you to the cabin which is a few houses away from a dead end. I think it's fair to say that it's a pretty quiet place.
     Anyway, the kids and their auntie had been playing for ten minutes or so before I decided to join the game. As I walked outside, the first thing I noticed was Miles standing in the middle of the road holding the soccer ball and naturally I panicked.
     "Miles!" I yelled. "You have to look for cars!"
     "I did!" he yelled back as he resumed play.
     My sister approached me with a smile and said, "he did look, you know. He ran right to the edge of the road, stopped, looked left and then right, then walked out to get the ball."
     "Oh, good," I replied feeling relieved.
     "I know that you have to teach the kids rules about safety and all but I have to say, it was pretty funny to see him treat the dirt road as though it were a freeway. I think I saw a tumbleweed roll by as he searched for traffic," said my sister as she elbowed me.

"Mom! Miles...!"

     My daughter should be a cop. She is extremely observant, is serious about separating right from wrong and actually embraces rules. She even keeps me in line when it comes to my poor time management issue. So it should be no surprise that she also keeps a close eye on her brother and has since he was born.

     This Miles' incident took place on a rural Minnesota highway near a stereotypical farm field. There were straight lines of vegetation as far as the eye could see, dusty dirt roads that entertained only the occasional car and farm houses no closer than a mile from one another. This was where the blow out occurred.
     We were only five minutes away from my best friend's home. Five minutes I tell you! When my cop daughter yelled, "Mom! Miles is eating his poop!"
     In all my years of dreaming up the perfect little family with the perfect little kids, one of my children eating their poop never entered my mind. Ever. I looked into the rear view mirror only to see my one year old son with his hand in his mouth and a look of disgust on his face. Well, at least he didn't like it.
     "No, no, no!" I yelled.
     This reaction startled him and he instantly withdrew his hand. It was indeed covered in poo. I turned off the highway onto the first dirt road I could find and flew out my door to rescue my Miles from himself. There he sat in a seat full of waste. There was shit everywhere. I slowly unbuckled him and pulled him from the wreckage. I just held him straight out in front of me and stared. I didn't know where to begin.
     While I pondered my next step, my daughter commentated, "What are we going to do, Mom? Do you have another diaper? Do you have any clean clothes for him? Gross, Miles. Why did he do that?"
     "I don't know, Bug. I just need an minute to think." Actually, I needed a bath tub and a washing machine but we can't have everything can we?
     I decided to open up the back door and look for my diaper bag. This was not an easy task while holding a dirty little man. And luckily, I did have a diaper but I was low on wipes. I truly don't know if anyone could have had the right amount of wipes to clean up this disaster but I was happy to have a few.
     I peeled off the soiled clothes and diaper then started wiping. Miles could walk at this point in his life which made me happy that I didn't have to set him down on the rocky dirt road. I wiped and wiped the child for ten minutes. All the while, my Nola kept asking me if I was done yet.
     "No, Bug, not yet...not now...a few more minutes."
     Once he was decent, I searched for a new outfit. I was prepared with extra clothing but I was not prepared for my son's car seat to be used as a toilet. I was out of wipes and at a loss as I stared at the nasty seat. What to do, what to do? I had to turn to my creative side. Everyone has a set of innate skills and one of mine is problem solving. I love puzzles, sudoku, design, I love creating; so, I had to look at my problem creatively.
     I searched my car and found a few small paper bags. I flattened the bags and covered the seat with them. Then I placed a blanket over the bags and set my freshly wiped son back in the seat. It still smelled like shit, but would work for the five miles we needed to drive.
     When I finished, I turned around and saw the mess of dirty wipes and crap filled clothes I had piled up on the side of the road. I did not have a plan for them. I had already used the paper bags I found in the car and I could not find a single piece of trash to help me contain the litter.
     After much contemplation, I made the rash decision to leave my garbage behind. Yes, I left twenty wipes, a pair of shorts and a child's t-shirt on the side of a country road. It was not an easy choice for me to make, my daughter does not get her rule following characteristic from the wind, but I could not find another option. My creativity was shot.
     As we drove away from the incident, my panicked daughter could not stop talking about Miles' clothes on the side of the road, "how are we going to get them back? What if the cows eat them? Mom, what are we going to do?"
     At that point, I was spent. So I answered her with the last bit of cleverness I could conjure up, "I'll call the farmer later, honey, and he'll mail them to us."
     She looked at me with much sincerity, "yeah, that's a good idea, Mom."