A review!

those small surprises
when you keep getting knocked down
suddenly are huge

I'm not sure if that's a very good haiku right there, but I'm in the throes of writing a post-apocalyptic book (you know, for kids!) and so I'm having trouble being silly. Not to say it won't be a silly post-apocalyptic book for kids… but… this actual part I'm writing right now is not the silly part. Man. What am I talking about? You guys, I've finally gone off the deep end.


Guess what I heard about today? A new review of Haiku Mama! A glowing review! On a website with a great font and a cute tree and tiny little birdies that are not scary! This was a welcome surprise.

Go check it out. And then buy a million books. The 6 people that have bought copies so far have really liked it.

(And in other book news, Mike Stellar has a summary up on Amazon now. Gotta get them to fix the bio, but yay summary! Also, keep checking in here and I'll post a link to the KA Holt blog as soon as I get it situated.)

OK. Pimping of self is over.

If you can tell me what movie the "you know, for kids!" quote is from, I'll give you ten points and a kiss on the mouth.

Am I a little bit drunk right now?


So that happened part II – destitute boogaloo

four hours forty-five
the insurance is cut off
now THAT's severance

And so, adding to the Fun That Just Won't Stop, my husband was laid off today.


The insurance is cut off at midnight unless we pay $1400 a month for COBRA. That's like saying "unless we pay three vials of unicorn tears and 16 solid gold monkey butts."


Two weeks severance.


$170 a month for Ike-a-saurus' goose-honk-preventing Prevacid.


But what can we do? At this point, it's just surreal. We've been reenacting Mr. Mom all night. I'm going to go eat some Colonel Chicken and polish my Schooner Tuna scripts.

It's either that or FREAK OUT. And I'm too tired to freak out.

Suck it, Universe. Suck my lady balls.

As the epiglottis turns

a stridor riot
goat noise secrets are revealed
science is magic

Yesterday, upon following up at the doctor for Ike-a-saurus' croup (aka stridor) that WON'T GO AWAY, they sent us back to the hospital to be admitted for more tests.

Not awesome.

Once we were settled in the hospital, the doc told us we needed to see an ENT, but the ENT wouldn't be available for 24 hours so we'd have to spend the night. This is when my famously non-confrontational easy-going hackles went sky high. Mama had had enough. And so had baby. And so had daddy. And so had everyone else in the family. I very passive-aggressively managed to get my point across that no, we would not be spending the night, we had spent the better part of three of the last six months in the hospital, and one more night was not going to happen unless there was dire need. Using admission to the hospital in lieu of getting an office appointment with a busy doctor was not going to cut it. (The idea was: doctors are busy. They won't see you in their office soon enough, so if you are an in-patient they are forced to see you. Interesting and understandable way to have to play the system – but not for me, not after everything that's been going on.)

After confirming over and over that Ike-a-saurus was not in any imminent threat, an that the ENT consult was most likely going to prove everyone's suspicion of an untreatable, not-usually-a-big-deal preemie-related thing, we asked the doctor to discharge us. She did. She was very kind about it, and also made us an appointment with an ENT for 7:30 the next morning. She totally called in a favor for us – so nice. I need to send her flowers or something.

So, fast forward to 7:30 this morning. The appointment went WAY better than I thought it would.
We knew the doctor was going to use a scope to look down Ike-a-saurus' throat and I was not super keen on the idea. But the scope was fast, and though it made the youngin' scream, it was waaaay less
traumatic than the eye doctor (at least for me, but I'm pretty sure for
him, too).

From the results of the scope, it looks like my wee-est dude has something called laryngomalacia – basically, floppy bits
and pieces of the larynx. They are partially obstructing his airway because
they're inflamed from reflux (and aggravated by the virus). Reflux –
who knew?

Now we have a script for Prevacid, and that should kick in
in about 4-6 weeks. Hopefully. If not, then we have to do scary GI
stuff, but fingers crossed the Prevacid will do the trick. And he
should outgrow the floppiness by the time he's a year old. So for now,
we just have to fix the reflux and try our best to keep him virus-free (like we're not doing that already). The doctor assured us this was a
mild case of the floppies (not an exact quote) and not at all scary. He also promised to call the ped and
tell them they could stop sending us to the hospital 40 million times.

Yay! And Whew.

This mama's going to take a nap now.

Marathon croup

permanent squeaking
wow does it make us grouchy
why won't he get well?

We're rocking day 6 of the croup over here. Ike-a-saurus is squeaking and honking in an impressive display of non-stop stridor.

Three days in the hospital and here we are – sitting on the couch, under the freezing breath of the cool mist humidifier, getting minimal relief. But at least we're done with the inhalable epinephrine, and at least we're home.

The steroids work briefly, reducing the inflammation of his airway, and then work the rest of the time making him nurse and nurse and nurse and nurse.

Parainfluenza can suck it.

(And by "it" I don't mean my boobs. They are done. As am I.)

so that happened

Top ten things the Croup has taught us:

1) Sitting next to a cool mist humidifier gives me an afro

2) When your baby is in your lap inhaling epinephrine, aim the mask down towards his face, not up towards his face. Otherwise you, too, inhale epinephrine. Not as fun as it sounds.

3) Ordering room service at the hospital is as close to pushing a Jetson's meal button as you can get. Dinner magically appears from the wall! But it tastes bad and comes in child-sized portions.

4) Inserting a baby's IV in a pitch dark room actually works.

5) Teaching hospitals. Not my favorite.

6) Listening to your baby become Chewbacca is not cool, even if you're a geek

7) When invited to visit her brother, your toddler will inexplicably lick the hospital crib.

8) Steroids make your baby eat like Takeru Kobayashi

9) Doctors with extra shiny hair make me suspicious

10) Eco-consciuos hospital toilets? Fail.

It’s a new day

The helicopter
flies Dubya far away
and the crowd goes wild

I thought about live-blogging Obama's speech and all of the pomp and the talking heads. But the emotion was too much for me. I selfishly didn't want anything to divert my attention. And I didn't want to seem like I was making fun… with the exception of Aretha's hat, of course. (She totally rocked it, by the way, didn't she? Who can pull off a hat like that? Aretha, bitches.)

I also would like to say how ridonkulously fitting that Dick Cheney finally made the full transformation to evil Mr. Potter from It's a Wonderful Life.

The wee-er one was given free reign this morning, while my hand flew to my mouth over and over, as I tried in vain to keep it together.

V8 everywhere, blue playdoh on the beige carpet, naked, wild.

"Oklobama!" she yelled. "Hook 'em Horns!"

And in this house, there is nothing held in more esteem than "hook 'em horns."

At least not until today.