The Aporkalypse

We knew this would be a tough flu season, we just didn’t think it’d happen SO FAST.

Ground zero for the Aporkalypse? Apparently my house. Ike is positive for the flu. It’s not confirmed H1N1, but we’ve been told 98% of flu in Austin is of the swine variety.

He’s in the hospital right now. Last night we enjoyed a 911 call and a first class ambulance ride. Today, he’s choking down two different antivirals to see if that can help things.

We’re obviously really concerned about secondary infections and his respiratory status. He is breathing really really fast. Like if panting was on fast forward.

No fun.

Times like these make me wish I’d researched swine flu a little less.

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Oh, the humanity

fever, chills, oh my
not as bad as Hindenburg
for the big brother

The wee one is sick today. He woke up with a raging fever and a headache and chills and all that fun stuff. So I whisked him off to the doctor for a rapid flu test. He's had the FluMist, but with Ike-a-saurus being high risk, I just don't want to take any chances. It doesn't appear to be the flu, and he was feeling a little better tonight. Very good, but still. Come on, stupid germs. No whammies! No whammies!

Anyway, while we were at the doctor, the wee one and I took part in our favorite doctor's office past time – discussing major tragedies and/or war. I'm not sure how this started. Today, the discussion was about the Hindenburg. The last visit it was the Titanic. The time before that we got into a chat about war strategy and how it relates to the battle scenes in the Phantom Menace.

The conversations are always organic… they evolve from something normal, into something not so much. How do we do that? Today, we were just hanging out in the exam room and this is how the conversation went:

1. The wee one was worried that he can't remember things from when he was a baby. I told him that not many people remember being a baby, and that my first memories are from when I was around two. I remember sitting on the concrete floor playing with blocks while we visited our new house that was being built.

2. The wee one said, "so you mean under this floor is concrete?" I said yes. Then he asked if there were squares (like in the linoleum) on the floors of airplanes so that people with parachutes could lift them and jump out. I said they usually jump out of the doors. Then I told him about how when I was a kid I used to watch parachutists flying through the sky on the way to a landing area that was near our house.

3. Talk of parachuting reminded him of the time a hot air balloon went down our street, just above the tops of the houses. He wanted to know how many people fit in the basket. We talked about how it depends on the size of the basket, and then I said that big airships used to carry lots of people and have dining rooms and things.

4. "Did those blimps ever crash?"

5. And there you go.

If I could remember, I could probably do the same thing with the Titanic chat and the war strategy, too. It starts off innocuous, and ends in me regaling stories of newsmen shouting, "OH, THE HUMANITY" because people painted hydrogen blimps with paint made of rocket fuel components.

So which is more traumatizing? Going to the doctor on a Saturday, or having to listen to your mom talk about flaming airships? Maybe if the doctor came in the room faster we wouldn't have to worry about this.

Or maybe I could learn to filter myself a little better. Ah, well. At least he's feeling better. And at least I know what the feverish nightmares will be about tonight.

So much to learn

remember the bus?
hot, bumpy, full of bad kids
wee one learns so much

The wee one came home from school today with angry eyebrows.

"What's the trouble?" I asked, as he marched down the sidewalk from the bus.

"That kid I told you about called me an asshole of a horse!" [this is the same kid who apparently blew into the wee one's face when the wee one told him he has a brother at home who can't be around germs]

"Well, that's a very awkward insult, if you ask me. Lots of words."

[a glowering look]

"Did he get in trouble?" I ask.

"Yes! BIG trouble!"

"There you go. I'm sorry he called you that, but I'm glad you didn't retort." [pause] "Wait. Did you say anything back?"

"No!" He goes in the house and readies himself for the shower we make him take everyday after school (because we are crazy that way). "Hey, mom?"

"Yes?"

"What's a 'dick'? Someone wrote something on the bus seat about some girl liking dick. Is that a person or a thing?"

And this is when I start to wonder… is riding the bus really worth it? Because ugh. If I wanted him to know about assholes and dicks, I would just let him read blogs.

Making a change?

I've been thinking about the blogs people have that are all about their perfect lives. "Today I wove rose petals into my daughter's hair and she loved it so much that she rewarded me by staring lovingly into my eyes for five minutes and then cleaning the kitchen. I know she's only three, but she just loves to clean the kitchen! After that, my oldest son went with a friend to cook meals for the homeless, while my youngest son was honored at banquet for gifted infants. My husband and I were able to steal away for a few moments to experience glorious sex in our spotless bedroom. I'm so happy to be able to cook this pan-seared pork tenderloin with chipotle cranberry chutney for my family tonight. It's such a quickie recipe, it leaves me time to bake that fat-free cake and knit a sweater for my elderly neighbor."

You know those blogs.

Maybe I should change mine into one like that. Only write about the amazing things, never talk about things like how, when I shower, 2/3 of my hair falls out and then seems to instantaneously grow back silver.

The problem is, if I converted the blog to All Awesome, All the Time, it would sound like, "Today I… uh… didn't have to go to the WIC office because my husband went for me." or "Today I was only shat on once." or "Today I suctioned a trach and didn't get any secretions on my hand."

Just not the same.

But that's OK.  One day the kids of the people who have the perfect blogs will write tell-all books and we'll finally find out the truth. My kids will never have to write a tell-all book because I blab everything already.

Actually, I'm not sure if that is OK or not. But it makes blogging a lot less annoying.

Pooperstar!

come on ride the train
might want to hold your breath, though
in a polite way

The
wee-er one has been potty-trained for a while now. It's still new
enough, though, that she marvels at it from time to time. "You know,
mommy, I poop in the potty now," she'll remind me. "I am a potty train."

"A
potty train?" I reply. "Does that mean you go chugga chugga chugga
chugga pooooo pooooo!" I laugh, but am only rewarded with a roll of the
eyes.

"You are a superstar pooper," I say, trying again. She
smiles. "A Pooperstar, if you will," I say, pushing it too far (so to
speak). Again I get the eye roll.

I guess even when you're three your mom's puns are lame.