Kids

Today I am blaming my son for the irritated mood I’m in.  I’m not blaming him because he did something wrong.  I’m not blaming him for anything that happened recently.  I’m blaming him for lulling me into a false sense of security.  When he was little I didn’t have to tell him not to color on the walls. I didn’t have to tell him not to put stickers on every flat surface in the house. I didn’t have to tell him that rubber stamps were just for paper. Somehow he just knew.  Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a kid.  Kids do crazy things without thinking, but for the most part he seemed to just instinctively know the rules.

Then came his little sister.  She did not know the rules.  I’ve been shocked about some of the things I’ve had to tell her not to do.  I’ve also been shocked by her surprise.  She can look at me with complete innocence and say, “But you never told me not to color my face with markers.”  or “My sheets were so plain, I just wanted to make them pretty.”  I’ve also been shocked by how little she listens to me.  Even on small things.      When she asks my opinion about two things she’s trying to choose between, I can always count on her going with the item I don’t pick.

I love that she’s independent.  To a point.  She’s only five after all.  It is possible that there are some subjects that I still know more about than she does.  I know it’s just because I’m her mom, and she’s testing that relationship.  She’s more likely to listen to a stranger’s opinion than mine.  Thankfully, I can be taught.  I (mostly) have learned not to ask, where there really isn’t a choice.  Of course she’s also learned.  On more than one occasion she’s said with a big smile, “Mom, you didn’t mean to ask if I wanted to eat my vegetables, but since you did, no, I don’t!”  She has also said to me, “Are we going to Dairy Queen or Subway for lunch?”  When I told her we were going home, she informed me, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t one of your choices.”

Today is one of those days when I kind of wish the kids each came with an owner’s manual.  Of course the manual would read very differently for each kid.  But, maybe one of them would tell me how to get red ink off my floor, and my wall, and my bedding, and my daughter.  I’d also really like to know how the smiley face stickers got inside my oven, and my washer and my dryer.

Getting there is half the fun?

I just got home from a fabulous vacation with my family and some extended family on my husband’s side.  There were 11 of us all together for an amazing week long vacation.  I wouldn’t have traded this trip for anything.  But, seriously, it’s the 21st century for goodness sake.  Where are the transporters!?!

I used to really believe that getting there was part of the fun.  When I was a kid my family took 16 hour car trips to visit relatives most summers.  When I was in college my roommate and I took pride in being able to pack for a trip, any trip, in 30 minutes or less.  I used to enjoy the time on long car or airplane rides.  It was great to visit with friends or family, or just sit back and let my mind wander.

Then came the children.  Suddenly packing became much more difficult.  I was home and my husband was working, so when ever we traveled I packed for all four of us.  When it was just me, it wasn’t a big deal if I forgot something.  I could always pick up a new toothbrush, or do without the extra sweatshirt I meant to bring.  With kids it’s different.  There are somethings that can’t be forgotten, everything from diaper bags, to favorite blankies, to snacks, to chargers for the electronics, the list is long and changes as the kids grow.  While they can do without these things, the trip is so much better if they don’t have to.  Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at remembering most things….mostly.  I did forget to pack underwear for my husband once, but that wasn’t all bad.  Now I only have three people to pack for.

It doesn’t help that I’m actually a little crazy.  At least I feel that way when it comes to flying.  I’m not sure if it’s the thought of us all dying in a fiery crash, or just being cooped up with everyone in a flying tin can, but for a few days before we get on a plane I get really nervous.  I need those days to get it out of my system slowly.  If I let out the crazy slowly, it isn’t so obvious to everyone around me just how nuts I am.  My husband once surprised me with a trip to Vegas for my birthday.  It was wonderful, but since it was a surprise, I didn’t have time to let the crazy out slowly and it all came out at once.  I’m guessing that me bursting into tears and asking what will happen to the kids when we both go down with the plane was probably not the reaction he was looking for when he gave me the tickets.  On the plus side, it helped push us to get a will put together.  Maybe someday we’ll even sign it.

As long as I have time to get the crazy out, I’m pretty calm on the actual plane….Except during take offs, landing and turbulence of any kind.  I like to sit next to my husband or my son who are both willing to hold my hand.  My husband because he knows I’m crazy, but loves me anyway, my son because he thinks it’s funny that mommy “pretends to freak out.”

I’m thankful that the rest of my family are good travelers.  Living in Montana we don’t have a lot of choices about airlines.  It seems like pretty much every flight I’ve ever been on requires me to be up at 3:30 am.  Back in college that would have meant going to a late movie, having a pizza, and starting to pack at about 3 am.  Those days are long gone.  Now it means trying to get very excited children in bed at 6:30 pm, so I can finish the last minute packing,  take a benadryl and start trying to sleep at about 8 pm.  I’m also thankful that once we get to a big city to change planes (flying out of Montana also means you almost always have to change planes) the airports have stores and restaurants and things like moving sidewalks to entertain the kids.  The airlines are also pretty good about  keeping the kids happy once we’re on the plane.  Although this trip I discovered it’s best to show the 5 year old exactly what the bathroom on the plane looks like and make sure she’s willing to use it before you let her partake in the multiple glasses of free orange juice that are offered to her.

Now we’re home and I can look back at all our pictures and remember how much fun we had in between the plane rides.  I can also go back to being normalish until the next plane ride, or until someone invents a transporter.

Snow!?!

Where is all that global warming I was promised?  I only ask, because it’s snowing…..again….I realize it’s only March, and snow in Montana in March is not unusual.  And, yes, I should know this.  I have lived in Montana almost all my life.  That word “almost” is very important.  My husband is the third generation to be born and raised in Montana on his dad’s side and the fourth generation on his mom’s side.  My parents moved to Montana when I was one, so I am not allowed to call myself a native Montanan.  But, I have been here long enough to know that snow in March, or really  any month of the year is not all that strange.

It’s not that I hate snow.  I love the first snow fall, and snow at Christmas, and helping the kids make snowmen in January.  But, I also love watching the bees in my beehive venturing out on the first sunny days in the spring, seeing flowers poking up through the dirt, running through the sprinkler with the kids, watching the leaves change color, and harvesting the garden.  What I really love about Montana weather is change.  I love visiting warm places in the middle of winter, but I could never live in a place were it was always warm, or always cold, or always anything.

However, I would like the change to be more predictable.  Yesterday the kids were playing outside in the sunshine.  It was warm and beautiful. Last weekend, the bees were flying around (at least the bees that the dog didn’t catch) and I cleaned out one of my flower beds.  Today there are scooters, bikes, and who knows what else hiding under the white stuff.  It wasn’t snowing when I took the kids to school.  My oldest did wear his snow boots this morning, and I’d like to say it’s because I was planning ahead and knew it might snow.  Truth is, we just couldn’t find his tennis shoes.  I’m pretty sure neither kid had mittens in their backpacks, let alone snow pants.   An hour or so after dropping off the kids I had to leave again and the van was already covered with snow.  Of course I was running late (big surprise) and I didn’t actually brush the snow off.  I turned on the windshield wipers and hoped for the best.  But, there was enough snow that I probably should have brushed it off.  I’ve packed away my snow boots, we’re just about out of firewood and I’m done with winter.  Yea, I know we still have a couple ski passes to use up, and I’m not down with the new hat I’m knitting, but now that I’ve had a taste of spring, I want more!

Every year I think, “This is it, this is the year that spring comes early and is full of bright sunny days!” I know that is overly optimistic.  Spring here usually starts around June and is grey and rainy, but every year there are just enough nice days to get my hopes up.  And then the mud starts.  All the snow melts, the rain starts and the muddy people and dog feet start coming in.  I know all the moisture is necessary, we live in a forested area and drought brings pine beetles and fire, both of which are bad, but I’m not a stellar house keeper under the best of circumstances.  As all the mud dries my kitchen floor starts to resemble a beach.   Maybe the snow is better than the mud.  Maybe a bright sunny day in the middle of a cold grey winter is a gift to be savored.  Maybe this spring will be early, warm and dry.  Maybe I’ll just have to get over it and enjoy whatever change comes, whenever it comes, and maybe I’ll remember to keep packing mittens and snow pants until school gets out in June.

Found it!

A couple months ago I was going to post a piece I wrote about marriage in honor of my 20th wedding anniversary.  Only I couldn’t find it.  Today I was looking for an article I wrote on gardening to submit to a magazine, and instead I found  my piece on marriage.   I’m not sure if it’s as good as I remember but here it is:

 

Lessons from 20 years of marriage

1. Laugh.  You got married because you enjoyed being around each other, never forget to have fun.

2. Remember everything is temporary, enjoy the good times, but get over the bad, neither one will last forever.

3. Laugh. When I was first married we were fighting about something, probably house work.  In the middle of the argument my husband said, “Don’t you think I’m trying?”  I of course answered, “No, I don’t.”  He came back with, “Well that’s strange, my mom always said I’m very trying.”  It’s hard to stay mad while you’re laughing.

4.  Don’t correct your spouse in public.

5. Laugh.  Especially at an inside joke, that no one else gets.

6. Divorce is a lot of paperwork and effort.  Put your effort into building up, not tearing down.

7. Laugh.  Have you caught on to the pattern yet?

8. Don’t take anything for granted.  When your spouse does something (anything) for you, say thank you and mean it.  Even if it’s frozen pizza for dinner.

9.  Laugh.  At the time, I didn’t appreciate the snow boots I got for our first Christmas together.  He blindfolded me and told me we were going to a special store to pick out a really great present that we’d both enjoy.  With that description, my mind did not immediately jump to snow boots.  But, now I know they are really good boots (I still have them).  I can also appreciate how funny the look on my face must have been when the blindfold came off in front of the boot display.

10. Listen, even if you have no idea what they’re talking about.  I can barely turn on my computer, my husband’s job is Chief Technology Officer.  When he talks about work, I understand about every fourth word, but he is important to me, and his work is important to him, so I listen.  My new hobby is knitting, he couldn’t care less about knitting, but he listens when I tell him about my projects.

11. Laugh.  Act goofy in public, sing loudly, and off key, in the car with the windows down.

12.  Hold hands.

13. Laugh.  Even if it’s just at a movie or TV show you both like.

14. Pray together.  You’ll need all the help you can get.

15. Laugh.  If you’re family is like ours the kids can be a great source of amusement….I mean joy.

16.  Don’t help others tear down their spouse.  It’s contagious.

17. Laugh.  But make sure you laugh with each other, not at each other.

18. Don’t make your issues his issues.  If you’re a neat freak and he isn’t, clean because it makes you happy.  Consider it your hobby that he doesn’t have to participate in.  He won’t do it right anyway.

19. Laugh.  You’ve got some history together, reminisce and remember the good times.

20. Cry.  I stole this one from my husband’s grandpa.  Grandpa took us out to dinner, several years ago, part way through dinner he asked us if our anniversary was coming up.  We confessed that it was on that actually day.  He called the waitress, who he knew,  to the table.  He told her we had been married about a tenth as long as he and his wife, who he lost the year before, and told her if we were a tenth as happy as they were, we’d be very lucky.  Our waitress gave him a big hug and quickly turned to go in the kitchen.  My husband said, “Grandpa, I think you made her cry!”  Grandpa said, “Sometime you need a good cry.”

 

Now…..where is that gardening article!?!

Chess Club

Today I presided over the inaugural meeting of the third grade chess club at my son’s school.  The club started because my son asked his teacher if they could play chess at school.  They then talked to the principal and decided to start a chess club.  My son was so excited about starting a club that he could hardly sleep.  Then things kind of came to a stand still.  The teachers were all busy with newspaper club, book clubs, and other activities and just couldn’t fit in one more club.  We talked about chess club daily at home, “When will we get started?   I made a poster to get kids to sign up, but I don’t know what date to put down for our first meeting.  Who is going to be in charge?  Where do we get the boards?”  I couldn’t stomp on his enthusiasm, and tell him it wasn’t going to happen.  He was excited and that excitement must have been contagious, because he got 22 other kids to sign up.

Helping a group of third graders play chess doesn’t sound like a big deal, and it’s not really, except I don’t actually know how to play.  I mean I kind of know the basics, kind of, but that’s about it.   My husband plays and has been teaching our son.  Our son is either a better student than I am, or my husband has gotten more patient over the years.  When we were first married my husband tried to teach me too.  After a couple tries, we decided we would like to stay married, and him teaching me chess was not helping us toward that goal.

So I was a little apprehensive when I found out there were 22 kids who wanted to learn, or practice if they already knew how to play.   I talked to the teachers and the first thing we did was change the time of the chess club.  Instead of missing reading, the kids now had to give up a recess to participate.  Suddenly we were down from 22 kids to 10.  Ten was a much more manageable number and all the kids that came seemed like they were really interested.  We started with the basics, how to set up the board, names of the pieces and how they move.  Of course the kids didn’t want to listen to me, they just wanted to play, so we set up some boards and started playing.  That’s when I learned that just because a third grader tells you he knows how to play chess, doesn’t mean he really knows how to play chess.  I heard all kinds of new rules today, “To win you have to take the king, or the queen.”  ”The horse can take a pawn by jumping over it.”  ”Only a king can take a king.”  ”If a pawn moves one space on his first move, he can move two on his next move.”  My favorite rule was, “You only have to be quiet when you play with your grandpa.  Otherwise cheering for a good move is totally fine.”

I went into this activity with some trepidation, but by the time our 30 minutes was up I was surprised how much fun I had.  I was also surprised how much I remembered from those lessons with my husband all those years ago.  That said, I’m also glad that the teachers are going to see if some of the older kids who really do know how to play, want to come and help.

I’m also going to remember that a day is quickly coming, when my son won’t have a big smile on his face and run to greet me when he sees me at school.  If I have to learn something new to see that smile for a little while longer, it’s a small price to pay.

Bed Making 101

I made my bed this morning.  Yes, I realize that with the  possible exception of my mother, no one cares.  No one sees my bedroom other than my husband and me.  My husband insists that he prefers the bed unmade, “It’s just cozier.”  I secretly (okay, maybe it’s not such a secret) think he just says this so I won’t bug him to make the bed.  I haven’t always been a bed maker, despite the best efforts of my mother.  I never really saw the point, I mean sure, if I was putting clean sheets on, the bed got made, but otherwise, why bother?  It was just going to get messy again in a few hours.  Besides, our room was a mess, and our bed matched.

Our house is old and there are not a lot of closets, so we had a lot of things without a home, that got dumped in our room.  There were piles of old magazines and books, half finished and forgotten craft projects, clothes the kids (or I) had outgrown that were waiting to be donated, broken toys that were waiting to be fixed (or tossed when they were forgotten) and many other things.  It finally got to be too much and we cleaned it all out.  After all that work, I started making my bed, at least once in a while.  The first thing I noticed was it was really nice to have a place to fold the laundry.  The next thing I noticed was my room stayed clean.  Something as simple as making the bed made the room feel more like a bedroom and less like a dumping ground.  The other thing I noticed, was how much more relaxed I felt when I was in my room.

I still don’t make my bed every day (sorry mom!).  Some days the morning just gets away from me, I feel like the two minutes it would take to make the bed could be better spent doing something else.  But I noticed taking that small amount of time to do something for myself really gets my day off to a better start.  I don’t do hospital corners and I have no idea how to make a bed you can bounce a quarter on, to be honest, I’m not really even sure what that means.  Beds are bouncy, don’t quarters bounce on messy beds too?  But I think making my bed in the morning gets me off to a good start because I haven’t taken a shower, or left my room, but I’ve already accomplished something.

My room will never be featured in a magazine.  On HGTV everyone talks about how they want a “sun-drenched” room where the light flows in.  I don’t want that.  I sleep in my room.  I sleep better in the dark.  I have very heavy curtains that make my room more like the bat-cave than a light filled oasis.  I have an old afghan that my husband’s grandma made covering my bed.  I love it, but it would never be called trendy or even stylish.  Any designer in their right mind would  have to start over if they wanted to stage my bedroom.   My room isn’t for anyone else, except my husband, who also likes to sleep in the dark.  And making my bed isn’t for anyone else.  At this point in my life, with small children at home,  so much of what I do each day is for other people.  Making my bed is two minutes everyday when I do something just for me, turns out Mom was right, I should make my bed everyday.

Lost Things

Today has been frustrating for me.  It should have been a very relaxing, yet productive day.  Christmas is over, and my husband took both kids skiing for the day.  I have a quiet house all to myself, the laundry is started, the kitchen is mostly clean, and about an hour ago I sat down to write a post.  My anniversary is coming up in a few days, and I had the perfect post already written out (at least the rough draft).  It was 20 things I  have learned in 20 years of marriage, or 20 ways to have a happy marriage, or 20 somethings.   Anyway I’m sure it was amazing.  Problem is I have no idea where it is.

I tend to write things out long-hand in notebooks.  Probably because of my limited computer skills, and because I don’t have to be at my desk.  I can bring a pen and some paper along on a long car ride, to a doctor’s appointment or just to the couch while I sit with my kids.  My husband and son will both tell me, “You can also bring a notebook computer.  You know like the one on the desk that you do all your typing on.”  Yea, yea, I know, I just like to actually put pen to paper, when I put pen to paper.  For some reason, my ideas just flow better that way.  As you can probably guess, I have a lot of notebooks.  I also have a file drawer with actual files in it.  When an idea shows promise (and sometimes when it doesn’t) I make a file for it and put it in my drawer.

While I’m sure my 20 somethings post was the best thing I’ve ever written, at the time I must not have thought it merited a file.  Or maybe it’s been so long that I didn’t have my filing system set up.  I really have no idea when I wrote it, I just know it was really good.  I think it was written on a yellow legal pad, but I could be wrong, it could have been in my black notebook, or the red one, or the one with a bird on the cover, or the blue one.  I’ve looked through all these without any luck.  I’ve also looked through all the file drawers in the house and everyplace else I can think of.  I can’t even blame anyone else for this.  I don’t know why, but losing something isn’t so bad, when I can blame someone else.  I guess it’s easier to forgive somebody else for not being careful with something precious to me than it is to forgive myself.

Things get lost a lot at our house.  I know one of the things on my list of 20 things, was something about how early on in my marriage I realized I could have a clean house or a happy marriage, and we are very happy.   Add a couple kids to the mix and you end up with a lot of clutter, and less time to clean.  Other people lose things here too.  A couple days ago it was the remote for the TV, before that it was a flashlight, one mitten, and two snow boots.  Somewhere in there it was one of my daughters favorite necklaces that was lost.  Most of the time, things eventually show up.  However, we’re still arguing about the jewelry.  I found the necklace, but it had been gone so long, that she forgot what it looked like.  She tells me the one I found isn’t as sparkly as the one she lost.

So, I will take a deep breath, and quit looking, because it seems like that’s when lost things show up, just when you stop looking.   Hopefully when it does show up, it will be as good as I remember.

The Idea of Peeing for Distance

Ideas can be a wonderful thing.  They can show us what can be, and inspire us to try new things.  However, some ideas don’t live up to the hype.  Some ideas disappoint, and need to be forgotten, or at least put aside for now.

My daughter is 4.  She loves the idea of tea parties.  She loves it when I get out the old, beautiful, mismatched china tea cups.  She loves it when I let her rummage through the cupboard with all the different kinds of tea.  She loves smelling the different boxes and picking her favorite.  She loves dunking the tea bag in the hot (or at least warm) water and watching as the water slowly changes color.  She loves holding her cup delicately with her pinky sticking out as she sips.   She hates the taste of tea.  She usually runs to the sink and spits it out after her first drink.  This doesn’t stop her from coming back for another sip.  She is so in love with the idea of tea, that she is willing to gag down half a cup just to experience the rest.  I’ve tried to substitute another beverage in the fancy cup only to be told, “It has to be tea!  We can’t have a tea party without tea!”

She’s not the only one with ideas.  My son is 9.  He loves the idea of having a birthday party.  He loves making invitations on the computer.  He loves picking out items for gift bags and organizing them so each friend will be happy with what he’s chosen for them.  He loves planning games and picking out prizes that everyone will enjoy.  He hates all the noise and confusion that comes with a party for kids.   Unlike his sister, he is starting to understand that this is an idea he can let go of.  This year we skipped the big party (thanks to the whooping cough) and went bowling with another family.  It wasn’t on his birthday, it wasn’t organized way ahead of time, it was kind of spur of the moment while everyone was healthy.  It was also a lot of fun.  No one melted down or was overwhelmed by the noise.  Everyone just had a great time.

I love the idea of travel.  I’d love to see the world.  I traveled some in college and remember walking the streets of Pompeii and seeing the great cathedrals of Europe.  I would love to go back and see more.  However,  I hate flying.  I don’t speak another language (despite the best efforts of my Spanish teacher).  I really hate crowds (we used to live in Missoula, MT, but we moved because it was getting too crowded).  I hate carrying and keeping track of everyone’s stuff.  I hate trying to entertain tired cranky kids, especially when the grownups are also tired and cranky from jet lag.  So, I’m going to try to remember, at least for now, that travel outside the US doesn’t live up to the hype I have build up in my mind.

My husband loves the idea of doing home repairs and remodeling.  He loves being able to do projects himself.  He loves saving money.  He loves learning new skills and using skills he already has.  He loves working on projects with his dad and his son.  He loves getting a project done exactly the way he wants it.  He hates that something always goes wrong.  He hates that it always takes longer than planned.  He hates that something always comes up in the middle of the project that causes it to be put on hold, sometimes it’s an after hours emergency at work, sometimes it’s a part that has to be ordered, but it’s always something.  Almost without fail, when it’s all done, he says, “If I knew what I was getting into, I would never have started it.”

Some ideas need to be left behind for a while, until the kids are older or until tea tastes better,  some ideas need to be abandoned all together, and some ideas work out great, even if they are difficult to accomplish.  The trick is figuring out which category my ideas fit into.   Years ago, when my son was younger and my daughter was still in diapers, we went on a long drive.  In the middle of nowhere we had to make a pit stop.  My daughter watched as her big brother relived himself in the grass along the side of the road.  She loved the idea of “peeing for distance” and was jealous that she wasn’t also allowed to go outside and try it.  Her very wise older brother explained to her, “You’re just not big enough to stand up and pee in the grass……and by the time you are, you won’t want to anymore.”

Cringe Moments

My daughter has the perfect little girl desk.  I know it is perfect, because it was mine when I was younger.  It’s regular size, so she can use it all the way through high school, and the top flips up to reveal a “secret” place to store treasure.  There is also a large mirror on the under side of the lid and two extra side drawers.  She was so excited when we brought it from my mom’s house a few months ago that she positively vibrated with enthusiasm.  She didn’t want to leave her room because she was busy organizing it and looking in the mirror.  It’s antique white, and she likes to think the antique part is actual gold.  She loves this desk.  It was in her room less than 24 hours before she colored on the front of it.  At first I was upset, especially when I couldn’t get the marks to wash off.  Then I remembered why the front panel is plain white instead of antique white.  That was where my mom painted over my art work.

We all make mistakes and do thing we regret.  My husband calls them cringe moments.  Those moments you can’t look back on without cringing, regretting, or wanting to change something.   Cringe moments are about small things:  the time I complained about my amazingly ugly orange counter tops in front of my friend’s mom, who told me she just chose that exact color for the counters in the house she was building; or the time I was at a party at my husband’s boss’s house and spilled something (okay it was beer) on the white carpet.  Cringe moments don’t always start out as a mistake, sometimes you do something very intentionally only to regret it later.  I’m sure both my daughter and I, somewhere in the back of our heads, thought we were improving the looks of our desk with our artwork.   They can also come from a simple misunderstanding.  Years ago a co-worker, who I didn’t know very well, returned from maternity leave.  I asked her how it felt to be back.  She stared at me with her mouth hanging open, turned and ran from the room.  Pretty soon, no one was talking to me.  Finally another co-worker asked how I could possibly have asked her such a question.  Turns out what she heard me say was, “How does it feel to be fat?”

The thing I’ve come to realize about these long ago moments, is no one cares anymore,except me.  If I bring up a cringe moment, even with people who were there when it happened, they either don’t remember it at all, or they just think it was funny.  So I’m trying to let go of some of my cringe moments and remember something my daughter told me when she was about three, “God loves us always, even if we break stuff.”  Our friends and family probably do too.

Warning: Whining Ahead

I had such high hopes for fall this year.  Then I got “the phone call.”  The week started off fine, my oldest had a little tickle in his throat, but ’tis the season, what kid doesn’t come down with a little cold in the fall.  Anyway, Monday morning, he coughed a couple times, not a bad cough, he had no other symptoms, and felt fine, so I gave him a big drink of water and sent him to school.  Tuesday his cough was still there, so we called the school, explained that he had a cough and still no other symptoms and they said to send him to school, they’d call if he got worse.  He made it through the whole day without getting worse.  I picked him up and he was still coughing, but otherwise fine.  Then at 4pm the phone rang.  The school nurse was calling to let us know that another 3rd grader had been coughing at school for a week or two and had just tested positive for whooping cough.  I’m not blaming the parents for sending him to school, I did the same thing.  If we kept kids home every time they had a sniffle or tickle in their throat, they’d never finish school.  But since my son had been exposed to someone with whooping cough, and now had a cough, he had to be tested.

My husband took him 20 miles into town to get the test done.  That was when we found out the county health department closes at 4pm.  He took him to the hospital to get tested and found out it’s much more expensive, and they could do the swab then, the lab work wouldn’t actually be done until the next day.  So Wednesday morning the guys were back in town first thing to get tested at county health.  After they got home they both told me about the test.  Apparently they need to swab the back of the sinus cavity.  My 8-year-old was pretty calm about it, “Yea, it hurt at first, but then I could just feel it going deeper, it didn’t hurt anymore.”  My big strong husband on the other hand, couldn’t talk about it with out a big shiver going through his whole body, “It was like a magic trick! The thing they stuck in his head was longer than his head and they just kept pushing it in further and further!  I actually watched the back of his head to make sure it didn’t come out the other side!”   Of course whooping cough is very contagious, so while we waited for results we had to stay away from people.

Did I mention that this particular Wednesday was Halloween?  If you’ve read one of my previous posts, you know we take Halloween pretty seriously in our house.  Getting tested for whooping cough meant not trick-or-treating for the 8-year-old, who had finally picked a superhero cape to wear around town.  But, it also meant no trick-or-treating for the 4-year-old who had settled on a ladybug/fairy princess/ballerina/cheerleader costume, and no trick-or-treating for Mom and Dad who probably enjoy it as much (if not more) than the kids.  I was almost relieved to find out the test was positive the next day.  At least I didn’t make them skip Halloween for nothing.

So we all had to go on antibiotics.  The kids never got very sick,  I felt terrible, I got a cough, fever, chills, and aches, but they were full of energy, and sugar, since a friend took and extra treat bag around and got them some Halloween candy, and we were all stuck in the house for five very long days until we were done with out medicine.  At one point, my 4-year-old saw our neighbor walking his dog, so she opened the window and cried out to him, that she needed to be rescued, because her parents wouldn’t let her go see her friends.

So, while we were sick we missed Halloween, my son missed a life size game of monopoly at school, a martial arts tournament and the pig races at his martial arts class (long story, no actual pigs are involved, but he had to sell a lot of stuff in their annual fundraiser to earn the right to participate and he was very sad to miss it.)  Oh, and my novel for NaNoWriMo is at around 2500 words instead of 25,000 words.

But life goes on.  We finally got through it, or at least thought we did.  Then yesterday my son started coughing again, worse than before.  We were up most of the night and now he’s going to have to miss more fun stuff.  Tomorrow is his birthday.  We had the cupcakes all ready to bring to school today, his grandparents, cousins, and a friend were all coming over and he is now in bed taking a nap, and the nap was his idea.

So, my plans for family pictures with nice fall colors probably aren’t going to work out this year.  Thankfully the photographer is understanding since I’ve now rescheduled them 4 times.  My son’s birthday (at least the party part) will have to happen some other time.  The rough draft of my novel (which at least I got a start on) will probably not be done this month and my son will have to look forward to next year’s pig races.  My goals for the rest of the month are smaller:  Keep the rest of us healthy, snuggle on the couch with my family and get a nap.  I’m pretty sure I can at least accomplish the last two.