One White Stripe

The Hubs and I are simultaneously battling allergies in the worst way and having both of us suffer together isn’t the picture of “let’s cuddle in bed, share Kleenex and watch bad daytime TV as we drift in and out of sleep." Nope, it’s more like “I’m sicker than you so you see what W needs while I sip more of this hot toddy and channel surf." I usually never get allergies but something in the air has got me all twisted. It’s all I can do to keep from coughing up a lung on to my desk at work. My co-workers better love me for the personal sacrifices I make for them.

The other night in the middle of the night I awoke to a mysterious crunching sound. I listened harder in the direction of the open bedroom windows and though it was a squirrel enjoying a midnight snack but the chomping was too close. In the pitch I turned my head so both ears could dial up the sound and process from hence it sprung to wake me (some pretty fancy writing, huh?) and was convinced that the squirrel was in our room. We don’t have screens on the windows so it was a viable possibility. I looked in the direction of Hubs whose profile I could barely discern in the moonlight and sure enough, I could see his jaw working away. The “squirrel” was the Hubs chomping on cough drops like stolen Halloween candy. Took a lot of will power to not grab a pillow and gently place it over his munching head.

Tomorrow is Halloween and we are almost prepared for the ghosts and goblins to appear. W is going to be Jack White from the White Stripes while his best bud, CaCa, is going to be Meg. As we all know from the previous blog entry, W doesn't "do" costumes. Took FOREVER to find some red pants in his size with belt loops for his white belt. I did find him some britches but they are for girls…and they have silver sparkles in them. Not only is the white belt going to mentally scar the child but the girlie britches with sparkles may send him in a demonic fit. Thank goodness he’s only two and loves a certain kind of jelly candy that I have a secret stash of for bribery cases such as these. Yes, W gets candy after his oatmeal tomorrow morning.

Faker

For several weeks now parents have been reading about the misuse of infant cough medicine ending in some overdose cases but I have yet to read about the addiction they may cause. For example, I’m getting ready for work this morning. W is doing his usual rooting around in various drawers and reveals two bottles of adult cough medicine. He brings the larger of the two over to me and says, “W cough, need cough medicine.” He starts fake coughing and continues begging for the meds. I tell him this one is for adults and he doesn’t have a cough and stop sticking your finger down your throat and let’s watch Curious George instead. The dramatics are cued and he starts with the whining and begging and more fake coughing/choking and I’m just looking at my toddler junkie and wondering who I should call for backup…911? NA? His doc? Pest control? My imaginary therapist? I admit to using cough meds when I felt he needed it but I’m not a believer in the band aid method of curing what ails you. I believe your body should work to banish the illness on it’s own. With constant observation and care of the situation, the natural method usually works for us but I’m disheartened by my 2-year-old’s junkie-like reaction to the sight of a cough medicine bottle. Anyone ever heard of toddler intervention?

Good Morning Cyclops

I awoke this morning with the eye grunge that W has been harboring the past week. It’s just in one eye though, one really pissed off, puffed up eye. Nice. When W is down with some bug, I rally my troop of mamas for info and advice. This is always a great plan of action for me because I learn something new every time. Like this for example. I didn’t know that every Thursday this site is updated with the latest bugs that are going around the city. And wouldn’t you know it, W had exactly what they described, that adenovirus crap. I guess I should put the fifth disease as the next thing he’s going to get since it’s listed there. I mean, he’s cleaning up on everything a child can get. Maybe we can get them all knocked out before his 2nd birthday and then he’ll be uber immune toddler. One can hope.

Just Blogging Along

I just ordered myself a Mother’s Day gift from RedEnvelope.com. Oh yes, I did. I even wrote out the message on the card, too…”Happy Belated Mother’s Day! Love, the Hubs.” I’m sparing him the embarrassment of forgetting such a meaningful and honorable day. Besides, he’s going to be out of town. I’m also getting something I want, a lovely pair of earrings and a necklace to match. All under $61.00. Before shipping.

I took my wilted flower of a son to school today. I tried to ramp his enthusiasm by outdoing myself in the “front seat dancing while driving and singing about school” department. Other drivers think I’m off my rocker. It worked and the school hasn’t called yet to tell us to come get him. He is feeling much better which is a relief. It breaks my heart in a million pieces to see him weak with sickness. Makes it tough for the Hubs and I to get along in the midst as well. He’s got deadlines and work to do, I have an office to report to and it completely stresses us inside and out. It was finals week at area colleges so no last minute students-for-hire could be found. I wonder what other families do when faced with this? I'm looking forward to using the two months I’ll be off this summer to determine if my child is naturally this sick or if school is the culprit. Then we will be able to figure out a better plan of action…different school? Stay-at-home help? Stay-at-home mom? All I know is I really need the Hubs out there writing music and finding artists to sing them and not hanging around the house with a sick child. I’m ready for that ranch/beach house already.

The Hubs is off tomorrow for several days playing gigs so if you’re in Dallas, Lubbock or Los Alamos, New Mexico (huh?) then go see him/them. Also, if anyone is free Saturday night and would like to join me for dinner, I have a dateless date night scheduled. Although I don’t mind drinking alone…like I do…in the closet…several times a week.

Fun, Fun, Family Fun!

Holy hell! Where have I been? We did an event yesterday in Georgetown so Monday and yesterday were all consumed with those details. The weekend was packed full of family time and almost in the “that is too much quality time” sorta way.

Saturday, we packed up the car and headed out of town to see the Hubs perform. Baby and I totally rocked out. It was the first show W had seen the Hubs play with this particular band and the kid fell into the groove like he was a roadie or something. I worried that he wouldn’t wear his ginormo 70’s style safety headphones to keep the volume turned down in his little ears but he wore them like a champ. He yelled, “Daddie, dittar!” and “Yeayyyyyy!” and high fived the sound guy like they toured together in a past life or something. Bling Bling drove in with her fab son to catch the show. We got shunted up into the balcony seats for a private perspective of the show. That’s always a good thing b/c most of the fans are weirrrrrrrd. I handed W over to Bling and he immediately passed out in her comfy, warm arms.

Our room happened to be the awesome grand suite of this old, haunted hotel and it was totally paid for by the promoter. After the show, I turned in with a sleepy baby in my arms. As I wrestled for the key to unlock the door, a girl came up behind me, her energy a bit charged in the negative direction. I said hello and the smirk on her face barely unfolded as she replied with a “Hey.” As she entered her room I heard her yell out, “This is NOT the grand suite. This is a petite suite and I swear…” and her voice drifted off as she slammed the door. She was part of a wedding party and obviously not happy with her lodging situation. I grinned to myself as I stepped in and locked the door behind. It’s cool to be a rock star’s wife, oh yes it is.

Everyone slept late the next morning, a clear indication to me that the Hubs had partied pretty late and W was getting sick. Check and check. We had plans to meet Gogo and Richard at the zoo and when we got there, the place was just coming alive. We made a beeline to see the monkeys to avoid a later crowd crush and the idea paid off hugely. As we approached the habitat for the silverback gorilla, we saw the male sitting all alone in a clearing sunning himself. He saw us and lumbered very slowly over on all fours and rested his massive frame against the 4 inches of glass that separated us. We all got down to his level and were truly awestruck by his brilliance, size and beauty. He splayed out like an Amazonian ruler waiting for someone to peel him a banana. His eyes looked at us unconcerned and calm. We all silently took in the moment until a family came along and the gorilla rose and walked away. The Hubs and I were very moved by the encounter but it also made us very sad for him and the plight of his diminishing species.

We ran amok for a few hours, dodging the clusters of gawkers and eating really bad food. It was crucial to our plan to make sure the departure home revolved around W's naptime and to make it back in time to hook up with some friends for paella, vino and toddler rompin’. We arrived a tad late but totally enjoyed the visit at their lovely home. We cherish CaCa and her parents and look forward to much more commingling.

P.S. As I assumed W is illin’ again, another bi-monthly germ warfare courtesy of his school, the Growing Spore. He had to come home early Monday but hopefully he can return tomorrow or the Hubs is going to divorce us.

A Complete Sentence

“Bird eat cookie.” This is W’s first real sentence put together on his own without any prompting from his mama. Landmark moment. I threw a half eaten piece of cookie out into the yard as I lifted him into his carseat this morning and that was his narration. I was proud, proud, proud and thankful that I could document him saying something sweet and innocent and not snarky and in bad taste, a definite possibility in our colorful little household.

While W has nearly mended from last week’s health deficiencies, I didn’t escape the wrath unscathed. As I write, I sniffle, sneeze, cough and wheeze into tissue after tissue. I honk like a goose in heat and people around me cringe in subtle horror. I have absorbed a milder version of W’s bronchial issue but it’s enough to make me want to scratch the inside of my throat for hours with a round hairbrush and hide under the covers for the rest of the day. Totally stinks.

Say Yeah!

I awoke to the sweetness of normalcy this morning. The Hubs was flopped on my side of the bed, the birds were practically sitting on our windowsill singing directly in to our bedroom and W was shouting “Mahma! Mahma!” from his crib downstairs. Earlier in the week I was holed up with baby in the guest bed delirious with fatigue and fear as he fought his horrible viruses. Those were turbulent nights/days/hours/minutes, my friends, but all is well now.

After the Hubs climbed into the taxi this morning and headed to the airport, (an event that thrilled the diapers off of W, I mean, a real taxi was at the front door!) I finished the morning routine of getting us dressed and headed out the door. Behind our house is what used to be our studio/guest/rehearsal space/doghouse for the Hubs. It’s now been rented by a friend of mine who is quickly becoming a friend of W’s. While I was upstairs getting the last of our things together, I heard W's friendly little voice call out from the balcony, “Hi Hee-ewe!” as H was leaving for work. This is a first since W usually runs in the other direction when he comes through the back gate. As charming as the moment seemed, I flashed forward to a vision of a modern day Dennis the Menace bothering Mr. Wilson. I already have to keep him from looking in his windows like a minature Peeping Tom. There could be a rental discount in H's future.

Lovely weekend ahead. A good friend from back home is coming to spend the weekend with us. I’ve also secured a sitter for tomorrow night so I can be “just me” with my friends for a few hours and no one's mama or spouse. I got a manicure this morning after dropping W at school just to feel extra feminine and sassy but it took all of my wits to stay awake throughout. Still pretty frayed around the edges and I think I'm feeling something suspiciously tickly in my throat but I'm sure I can beat it with lots of vitamin C and vino. It’s been a very long and spooky week but, thankfully, we made it through and the weekend is looking really good.

Clap Your Hands

Thank you to everyone who commented on my last post or wrote to me directly. W is doing much better today which means he wanted macaroni and cheese for breakfast, danced on the bar to the Arcade Fire and asked to “Whash paci?” when I was at the sink doing my makeup before work. While we were enduring the worst moments of the illnesses, all I could do was wonder how other parents did it, too. Single parents, those with several children, or those without much money. My heart went out to them in understanding and empathy. You have to walk a mile in someone’s shoes to get it, huh? I do know that as a parent something inside of you kicks in, a tremendous will, a determination to fight for whatever your child needs at all cost, and you just do it. You stay up all night every night, you cuddle for hours on end, you respond to every whimper, and you try to keep serenity in the home despite the unfamiliar horror of it all. And then you cry with relief in the shower when it’s all finally over. I never thought I’d be taking my son to the ER at nineteen months of age but I am so grateful it wasn’t more serious than it was.

The Hubs leaves on a trip in the morning to Italy for 12 days and returns on my birthday. I am green with envy but more happy that he has the opportunity to go song write in such an amazing place. This is what he should be doing and it’s been a long time coming. Bring us home a number one single, darling.

Muy Enfermo

It’s been a rollercoaster ride the last two days, folks. Remember that supremely undesirable disease that W picked up that made everyone run in the opposite direction? The one that should’ve been treated by the neighborhood veternarian? Well, he took it to the next level Monday evening and not just any level, my friends, but the level of pneumonia. Tis’ true.

On Monday after returning from a rather bland day at the office, I found a calmer, quieter version of my normally active W chillin’ on the couch. I didn’t expect any significant changes since he was already under viral attack but I thought he was on the mend. What I found was his small chest cavity straining for breath, each contraction a push for air. To look at his face, you wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was going on but his tiny frame moved with effort in a dramatic way. I called the after hours nurse and she said to medicate his fever (which was taking hold yet again) and to watch him. If he didn’t improve then the ER needed to check him out. Now I’m the kind of person who waits a bit to make sure a trip to the ER is absolutely necessary. The wait is long, the tests painful and the place totally scary. The Hubs, on the other hand, would go to the ER if he had a hangnail.

W and I snuggled up in the guest bedroom and we drifted in and out of sleep for a couple of hours before I decided that the situation was too much to bear. At 3:30 a.m., I startled the Hubs out of a deep sleep and off we went. Four hours we spent in the ER. Four hours of very kind nurses holding my frightened child down to insert an IV, to give him shots, to take pictures of his chest. The whole time W looked at me wild eyed, pleaded with tears to make it stop. After the IV had been removed and I sat him up, he immediately began signing “All done” and saying the words simultaneously in a hopeful, eager tone. Totally heartbreaking. The x-ray revealed pneumonia in his left lung so we did a round with the nebulizer which helped enormously. We were given a script to be filled and told to see his pediatrician so he could determine if W needed to be admitted to Children’s Hospital. Gasp! The next morning (we had all slept an hour and a half), W was almost entirely his regular, happy self and put on a very friendly but misleading show for Dr. G. He was chatty and charming and a little gentleman. Thankfully Dr. G knew the smoke and mirrors were a result of the meds and said to keep an eye on him for changes. Thank goodness we weren't bound for the Children's Hospital!

Last night was better except for the fact that I had given W a dose of some medication for his cough that according to the pharmacist “might make him a little hyper.” A little? He was practically break dancing off the walls when Miss Jo came over. Freak out. I won’t be administering that med anymore. Too dangerous for all of us.

W and I almost got a full night’s sleep last night so that’s a good sign. Fingers crossed that all will be well and back to normal very soon.

Enfermo

Who’s up for another episode of Sick Baby In The Big Purple House? This time we are home to the dreaded hand, foot, and mouth virus. I wrote last week or so about the fact that this little number was tearing through the members of the older classroom at W’s school. I knew W was doomed to get it when I was told he had been playing lately with the older kids in an effort to ease his upcoming transition in June to the 18+ month-old sect. Now switch to this past Saturday morning. W and I enjoyed breakfast with Miss Jo on the east side and then we went to see a friend who was prepping for a garage sale. Things seemed relatively normal with the kiddo. W was his predictable shy, clingy self, but when we went to Toys R Us, I realized I had an emerging situation on my hands. We all know how overly stimulating that place is with its giant plastic toy displays, it’s hyper-active birthday parties with sugar amped kids yelling “Happy Birthday So and So!” at the tops of their screeching lungs over and over as they move through the store like a pack of wild wolf pups, and how every aisle has at least two children “trying out” a toy while a parent is pleading for them to stop or watch out or I’m leaving you here (which is exactly what they want to happen). W just sat there like a wilted flower in the cart, a package of monster truck cars in his lap, his grip slack as the fever slowly took hold. It wasn’t until we got home and were sitting on the couch talking about where our eyes, nose and teeth were when I saw that his tiny tongue had reddish spots on it. “Oh no!” I yelled in my head as I looked closely at his hands and feet. Like an image coming in to focus under a microscope, I realized the stigmata on each limb, blisters, clear signs of the attack on his immune system.

So we spent the rest of the beautiful weekend doing nothing. W became Velcro Baby, preferring contact with me to the Hubs. The pain of the ulcers in his mouth and most likely a sore throat made eating agonizing for him. At night he and I shared the guest bed so I could be there to offer him water from his favorite Elmo sippy cup when needed (W has decided that water is now called “Pi” so he repeats “Pi peas, pi peas.”). We tossed and turned like a dingy in stormy waters through the wee hours of the mornings, W insisting on sleeping directly on top of me. Poor little guy, every other week it’s some sort of battle with a daycare bug. It’s frustrating and sad to see him so puny so often. Is this really part of the deal? Can I make a new deal?

Family Affair

W is sick yet again. He seems to be sleeping through it completely. I think he’s been awake a total of an hour today. I stayed home till 2 but needed to head to the office to finish up unfinished business. I’m waiting for the little guy to surface so I can try to access what exactly is wrong. It’s fever-oriented and it comes and goes. Around 5 a.m. this morning he was all clammy and drenched. I gave him his Elmo sippy cup and he nearly drained the entire thing. In fact, he fell asleep while he was drinking it in my arms. Such a bummer to have him ill again. Daycare is the culprit, I’m sure.

*Note: I just got an email from another mommy whose little guy attends W’s school. Seems he’s got the “hand, foot, and mouth” virus. He’s in a different class but viruses know no boundaries. The virus is caused by contact with poop. Poop, people.

We have a huge weekend of family ahead of us. Saturday is a family reunion of massive proportions. The Hubs is Hispanic and so his extended family is rather enormous. We are taking over a park next to Lake Austin somewhere. There will be a silent auction, music, tons of food, and a family photo taken. I’m thinking panoramic here. My mother asked that I take many pictures. I told her that when she sees them she’ll think we are in Mexico.

Friday, the Hubs is hosting a small wine tasting at our house which seemed like a bad idea to me simply because getting somewhat sloshed the day before the reunion may have lingering adverse affects. Now W is illin’ so that adds a whole new layer to the bad idea pie. I also have no desire to clean the house or prepare some nibbles for this thing. I didn’t conjure this in to being, he did, so he can play Martha Stewart for once. I’m just going to sit back and enjoy myself and of course, I’ll clean the mess up in the morning.

I Am Doll Parts

My nose looks like cleaved tenderloin from the constant Kleenex wiping. Yet another daycare or playground bug W has managed to share with the family. I woke up this morning feeling like my head was stuffed inside a giant sock. While I was gone over the weekend, he shared a little something with the Hubs, too. Instead of returning to a duo as excited to see me as a pair of Lab pups, I got the nipping of the shins from W while the Hubs just looked at me forlornly and with a little blame, I think. I know it’s harder for him to spend large chunks of time with the kiddo than it is for me. He’d rather be playing chess online, watching Mad Money or working a crossword puzzle in peace. Plus he’s a hypochondriac so every sniffle and cough is taken very seriously. Someone please call Dr. Quinn.

I’m wearing this really cute summery top today, sleeveless and all, that I got at Old Navy. Flip flops, too. I like to wear things like this when I know the weather is going to be bad (major thunderstorms on the radar for today). It’s my sort of “eff you, Mother Nature, I play by my own rules” or something like that. The tank top would look awesome on me if I had any boobs. They have completely vacated the premesis and I am as flat as a pancake. Completely disheartening, especially since I found my E cup nursing bras in a box of pregger clothes I lent to a friend yesterday. Her hooters are bigger now than they were AFTER she had her first child and we pointed and made sweeping hand gestures around her giant ta-tas in the front yard for all the neighbors to see. She suffers the same consequence as me after nursing and also ends up with nothing but a breastbone. We often talk about getting a tandem boob job in L.A. and then enjoying recovery on the beach with nothing but dental floss covering our new girls. Should we wear waxed or unwaxed floss?

Tardy, Tardy, Tardy

It's been over a week since the last post. The last time I took a break was when I had just given birth to the spawn. It's not my intention to be breaking now but I barely have time to write. Schedules have changed since the first of the year. Work loads have increased but that will only last until March 20. Between now and then let's just say I'm fucked. All is well in W's household 'tho. Well, mostly. W is sprouting the rest of his teeth which is the equivalent to all of them. He gnaws his fist constantly, moans in agony hourly and wears a 99.8 fever like a woolly sweater. Uncomfortable. The Hubs is working on a record release scheduled for early next month and me, well, let's just say I am sprouting an average of 3 grey hairs a day. It's the time of year when I am my busiest and such is the nature of the beast that is my job. I will write more maybe tonight, or tomorrow, or Saturday. Definitely by Saturday. Much to tell. Pictures to post. I miss reading everyone else's blobs.

Besos.

Illin'

It’s a good thing you can’t hear me talking right now. I sound like I have a hollowed out tin can attached to my face. W gave me the mother of all colds and it’s rocking my world. I clear my throat every 5 seconds, cough every four and sniff every three. Don’t you wish you were my officemate? Like I told a girlfriend last Friday night, I fanaticize about digging the baby bottle brush out of storage and sticking it down my throat to relieve the endless itching. Oh, and my face is as puffy as a cadavers. Nice, no? I’m sure W is suffering from the same symptoms but can’t verbalize them specifically. We cough, sneeze and sniffle together. It’s the pits. I just hope we don’t trade this thing back and forth like a game of Go Fish. It would be good to be well so that we don’t make Santa sick, too.

Lately, it’s been hard keeping W out of the toilet bowels. He slinks off to the loo and soon after you hear the bathroom door clicking closed. He has to do his dirty work in complete privacy. He goes in with serious determination and resurfaces like Jacque Cousteau after a successful dive. Most times, he’s armed with the bowel brush and scrapes the insides and outsides clean, others, he just goes in head first. You catch him in the act and he doesn’t recoil in fear or shame or disgust. He grins at you like he has just won the Olympic medal in synchronized swimming and this makes it very hard to discipline him without wanting to hug him for being so damn cute.

W is still the proud owner of only four teeth. At fifteen months, he still looks like a chipmunk but one that resembles David Letterman more and more as the weeks go by. The absence of other anchoring teeth is causing the two top ones to drift apart. He’s a masculine Madonna or a real life pint-sized Alfred E. Newman. I just hope the mystery of the missing teeth is soon solved. He would really like to sink his teeth into some holiday Angus.

Holiday Fever

W awoke with a subtle fever yesterday morning. He was warm all day but not quite warm enough to be sent home from school. His temp teetered on the edge of what is hot enough to call the ‘rents but never reached phoning status, the tipping point being 100.4 degrees. He didn’t eat any dinner (frown) and was out cold by 7 p.m. It worked out for us as we had my scientist-sis-in-law over for dinner and I got to spend uninterrupted time with her but in the back of my mind, I was fretting about the little one. Thankfully, he awoke this morning totally chill, mood and temperature wise. Unfortunately, since he crashed so early he decided to be up at 4:45 a. freakin’ m. He was bright eyed, bushy-tailed and ready to rock. I felt like I had been pummeled by rocks. Such is the roller coaster ride that is parenting.

We’re heading to a Christmas tree farm on Sunday with friends to choose and murder our own tree. Last year was our first year to go and the Hubs went kicking and screaming. Hopefully this year, since W is a bit older and more fun to do stuff with, Hubs will be eager to play Santa to last year’s Ebenezer. If he doesn’t make nice, Mrs. Claus is changing the locks on the doors and he can go live with the elves out back.

Bitty

We’re back to the CSS (cough, snot, sneeze) circle of unhealthiness in the Fantasy household. After pumping the baby with sweet pink antibiotic juice we were illness free for about a week and a half but I guess the force field of germ killer has worn off. Such a bummer. The kid wakes up looking like he’s been rooting around in rubber cement all night. He cries out in his attempts to keep breathing until ‘morn.

I have been trying to wean him but my efforts have been thwarted. A nighttime rescue from the crib means a boob cocktail for Shorty. With his eyes closed in the dark living room, he yanks out his pacifier with the POP! sound of a champagne cork unleashed. He hurls it into the night and positions himself expectantly, his mouth shaped like an “O”. It’s amusing but I’m wondering where it will end. Sure, I could get the Hubs to help out by having him be the recipient of the child-in-need but he’s kept nighttime working hours since the Rolling Stones show and that was like 3 weeks ago. My biggest fear is that we end up being something like this…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XGonnqcU-U

Halloweenie

Ugh. It's been hard to get a post up. I've started a couple, don't finish them and then they're outdated just like that. I've been too tired, too. And it seems like, somehow, daylight savings has taken an hour or more out of my day. Maybe it seems that way because it gets dark so dang early. There's not enough time to get everything done and like I said, I've been tired. Pooped. Worn out when I finally leave the salt mine. By 10 p.m. I'm sawing logs. Maybe I'm doing something wrong. Maybe I'm not budgeting my time well. Maybe getting up at 5:39 a.m. just isn’t early enough (this is what time W decided to get his Halloween day started…yeay for me!).

I have committed to exercising at least three times a week and this morning I walked good and hard for thirty minutes around the 'hood. I got a stitch in my side 20 minutes in but I pressed to finish the walk at a steady pace. Yeah, so I was only walking but it's been over a year and a half (or more) since I got my heart rate up over 30 bpm. I'm starting out slow so I don’t scare myself away. It felt good though…walking in the sunshine, taking in the window of time to myself. What sucked about it was the catcalling from construction workers (who must all be seriously lonely because I was wearing a t-shirt with my kid’s face plastered as big as a billboard on it), the cars trying to run me over, the bus exhaust, the demons in my head that won’t shut up for one damn minute and let me just mentally coast. Exercising is hard.

And no, I didn’t get W a Halloween costume this year. How could I top this? This was last year.























Instead I dressed him in his short black pants (girls section at Old Navy) and a black t-shirt that says, “I do my own stunts” with a stick figure falling over so if anyone one asks, he’s a stunt man for Halloween. Yeah.

W is FINALLY getting over the daycare disease he absorbed over 3 weeks ago. It raced through the family (and then some) like wild fire but we are all on the mend (knocking on wood). He’s still ingesting that sugary, thick pink liquid amoxicillin so I’m guaranteed a few more days of a healthy child ‘till it runs out. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep this kid healthy. Anything. Seriously.

This is W texting some hot baby he met on the internet..."Yeah, baby, yeah!"
















Grabbing the remote because Elmo's World is about to come on...
















"What? You're interested in some other baby? Aww, baby!"
















Our Halloween porch. Real World plastic chairs gone good.
















Baby in lights.

Bogger

It’s a “bog you down” kinda week, folks. Days and nights are filled to the brim with family, work and friends so I guess I’m bogged in a good way, just no time to blog about the bog. Plus we’re all still reeling from the bug that W brought into our lives almost 3 weeks ago. Keeps our energy levels on the low end of the gas tank and at night we all fall into bed completely expended. Is this madness ever going to end? I’ve heard that all of the other classes in W school are down to very few little people as they swap and share the scourge. Might be a vicious cycle for many months to come. I could go home right now and call it a day already.

Went to see the Rolling Stones last Sunday with 42,000 other people and it was a great show. My sis-in-law (who is also trying to kick W’s bug) lives close to the park where they performed so we were able to hike the short distance instead of dealing with the traffic and parking nightmares. The Hubs, his drummer (who flew in from Boulder, CO on his day off on another tour in progress with Edie Brickell & the New Bohemians), and I stood within yards of the stage for some great perspectives on the aging rock star royalty. I encountered a couple who were Nazis about the crowd behind them slowly ebbing closer to the stage like their soiled blanket that’s been on the ground for five hours and consequently considered to be their valuable piece of real estate is their license to bitch. News flash…when the headliner hits the stage, all bets are off. My back and legs ached as I stood there mesmerized by the energy and stamina of Mick. There were plenty of tasteful pyrotechnics and fireworks and at the very end of it all Mr. Jagger muttered into the mic, “No expense spared” in his delicious British accent.

On another rock n roll note, the Hubs’ new record is done and we’re now looking for a label to take it to the platinum level. It is AMAZING and a recorded testament of his incredible talent as a musician and songwriter. This gem is going to get us that little chateau in the south of France. Oh, yes, it is.

On the office front, we’re already kicking some serious ass for the next conference season. Last year (which is technically this year, just last March) we executed 68 parties in 9 days. We’re already up to 52 parties booked and it’s only October. How are we going to do it, you query? Crystal meth and lots of it.

He Who Wears Me Out

I pissed off my little drama king this morning by changing his clothes again before we left for school. He was already in an emotional state and the switching of his mismatched outfit was the straw that broke his baby camel’s back but I had to. It was cold out. C-O-L-D. So I dressed him in a warmer mismatched version and dropped his fussy self at school. The past two mornings (the Hubs has been out of town since Wed.), W has awoken at 5:22 a.m. (Thursday a.m.) and 2:27 a.m. (today). I have tried to thwart his ribcage rattling cough with meds but the situation persists. It’s hard on the little guy and, consequently, hard on momma. This restlessness has been going on a week now. We roam the house in the dark as I try to console his spirit and encourage sleep again. Memories of his early days on this planet come tumbling back. Oh, how I don’t miss those sleepless nights but here we are again. Two nights ago, I ended up on the couch and W finished the night on his miniature sofa. Last night, after much rocking and back patting, we collapsed on the couch together. It’s amazing how such a small person can take up so much space. Add to that the mutual fatigue, the perpetual crankiness, the “I will cry like you are beating me if you put me down” mood, and the “the water feels like acid on my skin” at bath time spectacle and it makes for some exhausting mornings and evenings during the work week. TGIF. When the Hubs returns tomorrow, I’m making the baby hand off and checking in to a hotel…or an asylum. Wherever I can get some uninterrupted sleep.

Chianti

Hello interneters! Can I just tell you how much the Marfa trip for Chinati Weekend was so much like riding a rollercoaster without a seat belt? Well, it was and here’s how it went…

Thursday awoke with an interesting sensation in/on my right eye. Fast forward to Friday and I’m sporting the gnarliest case of eye sty ever. My ball was like a giant red hot encased in a pudgy hot dog bun. Daycare strikes again! Yeay for me and I had a lot of networking to do. Thank God I packed my giant Mia-Farrowesque sunglasses.

Drive to Marfa one way, seven hours. "Hello, flat ass."

Passengers included hubby, baby, my sis-in-law and her fiancé.

How did baby do in the car? Basically he did everything he normally does but did it all in the car seat. He was a good sport. It probably helped that I had put whiskey in his sippy cup.

Friday via the Marfa Chamber of Commerce I secured a sitter who was a housekeeper at the Paisano Hotel. Score! I hook up with Holly, the decorator of my mansion, who has shown up to sell t-shirts that say “Chianti” on them. Again, this is Chinati weekend, a huge art event and soon her t-shirts are all over town.

Dandy Warhols are in from Portland. We drink adult bevies at the Thunderbird Hotel bar and the DJ spins us all into the night. Good times.

Return to the casita. Hubby says he’s always wondered what it would be like to live in an apartment in NYC with eldest sister. Lodging is very small but comfortable. Baby has a fever that is rocking his world. The deep chest coughs only make it worse. Long night.

Saturday Papa prepares for his gig in Alpine only to find that 3 of the five members of his band are ill. One of them makes the trip anyway. Papa scouts for a drummer and lands a local alternate and Fran Christine of the Fab Thunderbirds. Gig is great, so I hear. There is a street dance and dinner in Marfa. Food is retched, mariachis are great, baby is feeling fine. I hit the town with friends and leave baby with the sitter. Home at one and baby is in bad shape. We roll through another long night.

Sunday is a day of decompression. We drive, we eat, we stroller, we nap. It rains a trace and it’s beautiful. In the evening, we nosh as a little fam outside the casita and cobble together a nice meal with odds and ends we’ve all brought. Later I hang with friends for a while and return to an upset baby and a concerned daddy. We curl up together and sleep.

Drive back to Austin, another seven hours.

Monday is the long drive home. It all goes fairly well except for the last hour when baby had reached his limit. We finally make it home and W just about jumps out of my arms and races around the house to all of his toys like it’s Christmas morning. He’s a new kid and so happy to be back. So are we.