A trip to the ER availeth much

Many of you saw this picture on facebook:

The hair is wonderful, isn't it?  I couldn't have given a rat's ass at that point.

Yesterday's alleged bug bites were, in fact, hives and this morning it was accompanied by angioedema (the hella freakish swelling) on my left eye and the back of my head from ear to ear.  I called the Dr and got in with the nurse practitioner who gave me a steroid injection and sent me home with a few other Rx and instructions to call her if it didn't get better.

It did...and then got worse.  Although the swelling in my left eye had gone down, my right eye had started to swell and my hives were multiplying at a pretty rapid rate.  Furthermore, I was called with the results of my CBC informing me I have an elevated white count and need an antibiotic for whatever infection is causing it.  I, a medically uneducated person, thought, "Well, aren't the hives and edema the reason for my elevated white count?"  But, alas, I didn't say anything because, well, she has a nurse practitioner's license and all I have is a penchant for voyeuristic medical programs.

I look like a homeless person and that's offensive to homeless people.

While I was noticing a worsening of my symptoms, I realized that my chest felt heavy, as though someone were sitting on my chest.  After my oatmeal bath in cold water (that was terrible, I like molten lava showers), I called my Dr's office who told me to hightail it to the ER.

In the ER, the Dr took a look at me, asked me some questions, and looked at the Rx I was given and quickly set me straight.  No infection, my layman's assumption was correct.  I have hives and, although they look scary, they will go away and be eased by the medication, some prescribed this morning and some prescribed in the ER.  It totally didn't hurt that the Dr looked like an older (and shorter) version of Dermot Mulrooney.

My nerves are settled and the swelling has gone down even more.  I know that some people claim they get hives due to stress and I wouldn't be surprised if that were the cause although, hell, I don't want that to happen again.  I don't need to be THIS stressed...maybe I need to take up yoga again...

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The itch I can't help but scratch.

Last night, I went to bed just fine.  This morning, however, I woke up with small raised bumps that itch like a mo-fo.  My first thought: bedbugs.  Hence, the morning was spent inspecting my mattress, box spring, and bed frame making the kids tardy and me late for school.  I'm happy to say I didn't find anything aside from some hardcore dust balls.  Not finding creepy crawlies, though, didn't help the bump situation and the Internet research I did when trying to find out what to look for only exacerbated the itching.  Before the search, I didn't know what scabies were...now I do.  I also didn't know how many types of lice there are...now I do.  Fabulous.  I'm itchy EVERYWHERE and will now commence my life encased in a pest-free bubble.

After a good sweat at the gym, I came home and noticed the bumps had spread!  I've come to the conclusion that it's one of two things, either sweat dermatitis or hives.  Should it be the former, I am vindicated in my assertion that I AM, in fact, allergic to exercise and I will take pictures and email them to my high school guidance councilor.  Should it be the latter, well, I'm stumped and have NO idea what I could be allergic to, unless my body has decided to exhibit visible (and itchable) signs of stress. Couldn't be...me, stressed??  *insert nervous tick here*

What made my day even more fantastic was Rory running into the bathroom as I attempted a super fast shower.  I had left her happily eating her lunch at the table only to be interrupted less than 5 minutes into my lather, rinse, repeat cycle with cries of "poopy".  Thinking she needed to go, I plopped her up onto the toilet and hopped back in the shower to finish at ludicrous speed (Spaceballs, anyone?).  As I got out of the shower, I noticed a smear on the seat.  Lo and behold, the poor kid ran to her potty in the living room mid-poop, pulled her diaper off, and finished the job in her little potty.  She then ran into the bathroom to tell me about her grand accomplishment.  (Which it was seeing as this is the FIRST time she has even attempted to poo in the loo.)  Welp, after many Clorox wipes and ANOTHER shower (in order to wash Rory's butt), I'm finally able to relax...and scratch.

Until Then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Bedtime ruminations

While perusing Facebook in bed, I ran across a friend from college who had checked in at a tourist restaurant in town. Okay, it's probably the ONLY tourist restaurant in town. I "liked" his status and was immediately messaged asking me where I was and what I was doing. I responded that I was home and in bed as there are kids to get to school in the morning and I have my class bright and early. This brought me a bit of a reality check...

My first thought was that I must be getting really old if I just presume that people my age and older are at home at 9:45 p.m. in anticipation of tomorrow's responsibilities. (In the friend's defense, he is moving cross-country, so, his responsibilities right now are...well...to get there.) It's hard to remember, seems like an eternity ago, but there was a time in my life when I would've jumped out of bed and threw some clothes on and headed out to join the party. That level of "freedom", if you will, seems a bit scary to me now. Just the thought causes my stomach to drop a little as it seems so empty, lonely, and limitless, like standing on the edge of a chasm. Anything could happen and, although that once gave me an innocently naive thrill, my more mature self would be much less comfortable with the thought. I suppose that makes me sound very conservative, precautionary, and small and although I sometimes find mostly tedium in my day to day, same old, same old, there is a comfortable confinement in it.

Before I had even a moment to analyze these thoughts, to give myself a chance to wonder if I miss being "footloose and fancy-free", Rory woke up crying. Walking into their room and realizing they are both up and wanting in my bed gave me my answer before I had even asked the question: nope, I don't miss it at all. You, as the reader, already knew that though. The above is the rumination and conclusion reached while two little sweaty snoring girls sleep beside me. I would love to have a bit of a change in our circumstance (Clayton a new job, owning our own home, a little more financial security, etc.) but this, this right here, I wouldn't trade for all the freedom in the world. If the life of a stay-at-home mom is a prison, well, I'm a lifer, I choose to stay here.

Until Then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

They Don't Serve Breakfast in Hell

I took the girls swimming today as it is Good Friday and Ariel is out of school.  She ended the pool time jumping in while I held her pool noodle out for her to grab as she splashed into the water.  Let me tell you, this is a vast improvement to this time last year.  No joke, my child had goggles (or googles as she called them), floaties, and a noodle whilst sitting on the top step of the pool THE ENTIRE TIME.  Yes, she, bedecked in as many floatation devices she could get her hands on, spent an hour watching everyone else enjoy the water.  She insisted she was having a good time...sure ya were.

The meals have been going well, it's plenty of food which is good as the last diet/meal plan I went on made me hangry.  No, that's not a typo.  (hangry - adj. hunger induced anger)  The last attempt at flab fighting was one of those shake-type plans and I have to say I won't ever do one of those again.  I am absolutely positive they work, just not for me.  I HATED the shakes.  If you want to torture me, force me to exist on protein shakes, I despise them.  Just making the shake would cause such incendiary rage that I would fantasize about picking up the blender mid-blend and smashing the mother f'er against the wall.  I need food.  The kind you chew.

The hardest part of this meal plan is forcing myself to eat breakfast.  From as early as I was able to make such a decision, I've never been a breakfast eater.  I don't like eating first thing in the morning, I need to drink my coffee and stare blankly at the wall for a while.  I don't like to have to think in the morning and I find it very rude when people can't just let me get my coffee and ignore me for about 30 minutes.  No such luck though, mornings around here are hectic, of course, as it is in most houses with school age children.  I've found myself feeling very ill about 30 minutes after eating.  My stomach is revolting as it hasn't even woken up and I'm feeding it.  I think it shares my attitude: Give me my coffee and leave me alone.

AC is a lot like me, she'll eat some cereal in the morning, but for her to really tuck into something it needs to be served at least 45 min after she has woken up.  Rory is like her dad, no patience, just feed me now.  That's why he either eats leftovers or will go out and pick something up when he's home.  The former is something I find absolutely abhorrant.  Leftovers for breakfast???  I have to have breakfast food for breakfast, not reheated lasagna or Japanese steakhouse doggy bag remains.  Yeuch.  I shudder at the thought.

Until Then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

~Anyone get the title reference BESIDES my mom and brothers??

I hear the wagon comin'...

It's that time of year again.  The time when the fitness wagon rumbles by and I jump on only to fall off into a pile of donuts 12 weeks down the road (ok, who am I kidding? 3 weeks...)  I've logged on to sparkpeople and, unlike my previous post on the subject, took my shopping list to the store and BOUGHT the stuff on it!  Not sure how this is going to work, but I'll give it a week.  Due to my "economy of movement", I really don't relish the idea of preparing two dishes at every meal and that can only mean one thing: the girls are going to do this with me.  If Rory knew what a hunger strike was, I would look for her to be calling the media and wearing a sandwich board in the front yard by this weekend.

Tomorrow morning is toast, eggs, milk, and grapes.  Totally doable...except that AC is like me and doesn't like to eat first thing in the morning.  Oh, well, eat or starve.  (I know, I'm totally winning Mom of the Year with that one.)

I went to the gym today as well.  I teach water aerobics on MWF and consider TTh to be my "useless, braless blob in pajamas" days.  Not today!  (HA! GoT reference right there.)  Spent an hour in the pool going over my class and coming up with some new things.  I'm POOPED, so, I better get to bed.  Not only do I teach tomorrow, but I have to see my trainer...wha, wha, wha, whaaaaaa.  I was going to impress you all and embed an mp3 with the sad trombone right there, but, alas, I have no idea how to do that and just spent 20 minutes trying to figure it out.  Not sure why I thought I was capable of that...hell, I don't even know what Tumblr is for.

Until then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Why, Zombie, why

I've decided I'd like to take up archery.  Yes, I know, everyone and their dog are taking up the sport as a result of Merida and Katniss, but my interest has been brewing for a while and was awakened while watching AMC's The Walking Dead.  Now, I haven't watched past the first five episodes due to personal convictions, however, if you watch it, carry on.

What I didn't understand was how the epidemic got so bad in the first place, how did people NOT notice that shuffling, stinking zombies were becoming a problem and nip that crap in the bud?  Herd them to a slaughterhouse, bar the doors, and set that mother on fire...there, zombie problem solved.  Or how about this:  If someone dies, toss them on the pyre or decapitate them.  There, future zombie problem solved.

Back to archery.  ONE dude in the beginning of this show has a crossbow.  Really??  We're using guns over bows??  Firstly, when you find that noise summons the Thriller extras and you don't have a silencer on hand, USE A BOW...or a flame thrower.  Furthermore, you can REUSE your ammo.  Shoot a zombie?  Great, as you walk past, pull the arrow out of their head and use it again.  For reals, these people don't seem to be thinking.

Should the zombie apocalypse come to pass while I am in an urban setting, you can find my bow, arrows, and I shored up in a Wal-Mart with empty racks pushed up against the entrances and a few sharp shooters stationed on the roof.  Of course, that probably wouldn't make for good television.

I intend to, ultimately, live in the boonies.  We would like to have our own garden, well, windmill, etc. so that when the dead shufflers take over, it'll take 'em a while to get to me.  We probably wouldn't see all too many, maybe just a few "special" zombies that get separated from the herd...

Until then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

AC and the Dentist

Smooth sailing this weekend, a concert (AC's first), date night for Clayton and I, and a musical so far.  Things weren't so copacetic earlier this week, however.  After a routine visit to our dentist, it was discovered that AC had a cavity.  I was a little surprised, the kids don't get much candy (we throw away more than we eat) and we don't do soda...okay, well, the KIDS don't.  *Insert sheepish smile*  Come to find out, the cavity was in between her molars which are so tight it's difficult to get dental floss in between them.  After further rumination, I realized our culprit was probably fruit snacks which, let's face it, are just candy in fruit's clothing.  My children can eat their weight in those nasty little gummies.  We scheduled an appointment for a filling and went home.

Now, AC is a high-strung kid and I have NO idea where she gets that...*ahem*  I remember screaming like I was being murdered on the floor of my grandparents' bathroom, both parents sitting on various appendages while one of them brandished a pair of tweezers.  Yup, it was a splinter and I was terrified.  Hyperventilating and the whole bit.  I've experienced similar situations with AC.  I should also point out that this kid has the constitution of an elephant when it comes to any sort of sedative or anesthesia.  She comes by this honest; her dad and I need to be shot with horse tranquilizers in order to be "out".  Benadryl may as well be KoolAid to this kid.

That being said, I don't think it's any surprise that the filling didn't go as planned.  The nitrous was completely ineffective and when she saw the syringe, all bets were off.  Our dentist was fabulous, though, and laughed it off, not charging us a dime for her time or supplies.  She referred us to a pediatric dentist who found EIGHT cavities, one of which was in need of a root canal!!  I was skeptical and agonized over paying so much for dental work on baby teeth, but that's fodder for another post.

Knowing that my kid can end up much like a panicked octopus with a steam whistle, I opted for the pre-meds which is a "juice" the kids get to make them a bobble head.  That went smoothly, but after the prescribed hour in which it should kick in, she was fine.  I even checked her pupils...they were TINY!! I was able to go back with her (which was a good thing or she would have been crying before it even started).  AC did fine, although there were a lot of frantic questions (her delay tactic), until the dentist, in an attempt to show her the "tickle jelly", accidentally flung the topical in her eye.  Priceless.

It was soon after the eyeball numbing that the dentist attempted to surreptitiously grab her syringe.  AC was not to be fooled by the "squirter" and was held down by two hygienists, one with her hand prying AC's mouth open while she screamed bloody murder.

Sidenote: I don't know about any of you, but when my kids get shots and scream their heads off, I laugh.  It's not that I enjoy their pain or anything, but I just can't help it.  My mom did the same thing, maybe it's genetic...

After the shots, she was still FREAKING OUT crying and hyperventilating and everything.  One older hygienist got all up in her grill and sternly told her to, "Stop it or I'll have to wrap you up* and you don't want that.  You're a big girl and you will stop it right now."  At first I was a bit taken aback by someone being so ascetic with my child, but soon found myself cheering her on as it was working and you KNOW it NEVER works when I try to calm her down.  Once the tears were dried, it was cake from then on.  

She did well and, thank God, no root canal was necessary (I wasn't looking forward to paying for that).  We have two more visits to clear up the rest of them and she isn't quite as anxious about those.  

After the harrowing adventure, she took a LONG nap.

Until then, 

AC 'n' Rory's Mom