Cherry on Top

My husband has had trouble in the past with giving blood. . . to the tune of fainting, getting all tingly, and having to lay down while old ladies fuss over him with cookies. But I didn't really think anything about that and the routine lab work we were going to do this morning.

After they took my blood, I came back out and told Dave that it looked like a lot (6 vials!), but it really wasn't and it went fast. I was trying to be positive. He said he didn't want to do it and may have rubbed his palms together in a nervous way, but I didn't think to worry.

Dave seemed to be gone for a while. Then the nurse came out. "Um. Your husband's not doing so well," she said. "He's lying down in the back. You may want to go to him."

She kind of looked at me funny when I laughed. I guess she doesn't know that it's the kind of thing we make fun of him for. Mercilessly.

He did look pretty bad--all white and sweaty. "Don't even say it," he said when I got in there. "I know I'm ridiculous." Then he moved on to telling me, "I feel bad. . . I feel bad. . ."

There's one minor (or major, depending on who you are) difference between going to the lab and donating blood with the Red Cross. At the lab, there are no old ladies or cookies or orange juice. And even if they have some candy in a back room somewhere, they say they'll get in trouble if they give it out. Even if Reese Cups are the one thing that will make a man feel better.

The kids and I trekked downstairs and got an apple from the van. But that wasn't sugary enough so off we went to CVS. On the upside, the kids had fun on their many elevator rides. We brought our invalid some Reese Cups and peanut butter M&M's. Lucky duck. I didn't even say anything about artificial colors and cancer.

On a side note, I just googled "are peanut butter M&M's bad for you?" and most of the posts said something like, "Help! I can't stop eating peanut butter M&M's!" so apparently most people have more of a problem with the addictive nature than with the red 40.

Did I mention there was also a not-fun diaper to change on the van floor in the midst of all this? And we were trying to do everything quickly so the kids could make their 9:45 swim lessons?

It turned out we were only a little late for the lessons. But one kid didn't want to go in the water, (I don't totally blame him. It was cold this morning!) which prompted the teacher to have a talk with me afterwards. Then we had epic meltdowns trying to change into normal clothes. One Mommy who hasn't eaten + one rambunctious toddler + one ornery preschooler in one tiny shower stall = not pretty and lots of "Don't touch each other!" and "You have to get dressed!" and "Your feet are wet because everything's wet!"

Because we all got dressed and Dave made it to work, I decided I should be rewarded with a Grande Decaf Iced Mocha from my favorite downtown coffee shop. It was delicious. It was grand. It was everything I hoped it would be.

Finally we made it home. On the way into the house I was carrying a bag of wet clothes, my coffee, and the dirty cloth diaper. One of the wipes fell out onto the driveway. Then, in a moment of what I can only describe as sheer brilliance, I leaned over to pick it up and dumped my delicious reward all over the driveway. That's what I call the Cherry On Top.

This Is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen: A Book Review (recommended for ages 4-8)

In this book, a little fish steals a hat from a big fish and thinks he can get away with it. The sense of humor in this book is delightful. It won a Caldecott medal for the illustrations, which are hilarious and tell a good portion of the story by themselves. This is one that your kids will probably want to read over and over again and you'll be okay with that. You won't want to hide it in a closet after the twentieth read.

Every Day Deserves a Mocha

This past Sunday we ate horribly. I mean the food tasted good. It just wasn't what I would call healthy. We had donuts with white flour, angel food cake, and baseball game fare. It was Father's Day and Dave's birthday so we had an excuse.

Then it all caught up with me. Well, not really me, but with the boys and their stomachs (and so me by extension). And I won't explain much further than that. . . But there was my proof in the laundry basket that eating healthy really does matter.

Dave felt bad for me after I texted him and told him that one kid was on outfit change #3 so he brought me some coffee after work. Win! It wasn't even that bad of an ordeal for me. I should text him more often.

Maybe I could tell him things like:

"Breakfast today consisted of the boys spitting and saying things like 'He shot his germ at me!'"

"A. thought those five minutes in the car were a real nap."

"Our four-year old talked back to me. I'm not ready."

"I baked and now the kitchen is a mess. I'm avoiding that room. Who am I kidding? The whole house is a mess. I'm hiding on the porch."

"It's bloody hot outside."

I wouldn't mind an iced decaf mocha every day. . . and I kind of feel like every day deserves one.








Do you think it will work?

What Happens When One Parent Goes Out of Town

I wrote this a while ago, but am just now getting around to posting it. . .

Yesterday my morning started with E. telling me he peed in his bed. Then I went to get A. and the first thing he said to me was: "Poop. Big poop." Lovely. I would prefer it if he waited to have his bowel movements until after I've had my coffee.

Then today, in a rare turn of events, E. took a nap and A. did not. Actually, A. fell asleep in the car for about five minutes. It happened to be pouring down rain when I needed to transfer him from the car to his bed. That didn't work so well. I didn't count the five minutes of sleep in the van as an actual nap, but he did.

E. woke up from his nap super cranky. He didn't want anyone to speak. He told me he wanted me to have nothing. I didn't ask, but I'm pretty sure he meant anything in life, ever. Then he didn't want dinner. He only liked long bacon not cut-up bacon. And this went on and on.

And finally seven p.m. rolled around and I thought I'd pretty much made it to bedtime. But the day wasn't over yet. A. rolled away from me while I was trying to get p.j.'s on him. I told him to come back, which he did at a full-out run just as I was reaching back from getting something. I elbowed him in the face. I decided to risk it and comfort him while he was naked. I'm sure you can guess what happened next. I didn't even feel it, but he pulled away from our hug and pointed to my pants. "Did you pee on me?" I asked him. "Yeah," he said. At least he's honest.

And that's how things go when Dave is out of town.