Unclean! Unclean! – The scourge of adulthood Pinkeye.

So yeah Pink Eye. I’ll be 47 in august and I’ve been felled by a condition 5 year olds get. Ironically I never got it as a 5 yr old. As a matter of fact I’ve never had Pink Eye. I don’t think any of my 7 brothers and sisters had Pink Eye as kids.

This has been a big eye opener. Yeah I went there.

No clue how I got it either. Neither kid had it when I got it. Thankfully no one else in the house got it from me; an unexplained miracle to this day. I do drop Frank off at that giant petri dish known as pre-school. I can’t imagine what manner of microbes are crawling around that joint.

Every day a new batch of bacteria delivered in the form of a snotty varmint wiping their noses on sleeves, touching door knobs, coughing into the air as to get the most effective germ spread pattern possible. The ultimate biological weapons packed in the deadliest of delivery systems – a kid. Surprised I haven’t gotten the Plague yet. But thanks to the anti-vaccine crowd I hear there is a good chance the Plague might make a comeback.

Anyway my eye started feeling weird last Friday afternoon. By dinner I could barely see out of it and by bedtime (12:00-1:00am for me) it was hard to keep open from the pain. We had eye drops left over from when Frank had pink eye a month before. So I bathed both eyes in that stuff.  Worked too. By Sunday morning both eyes were glued shut. Here is what it looked like by Sunday afternoon.

WARNING! Graphic eye picture dead ahead!

Drops didn't work dude.

Drops didn’t work dude.

That’s just nasty.

The pain was a little surprising. Anyone I talked to said it should itch but not hurt and that includes the doc I went to on Monday. Never got the itching part. But man it hurt. I did learn something. Telling kids not to touch their pink type infected eyes or not to scratch a rash is just about the dumbest thing we could say to our kids. From the jump I couldn’t keep from touching my eyes. It’s a wonder it only lasted 3 days the way I was pulling and poking and rubbing my eyes. I’m surprised my hands didn’t get infected. How in the world could I expect Frank or Anne Marie to posses that type of discipline? Crazy.

But the bigger issue is the shame. I learned long ago with Frank it doesn’t matter if you’re sick you still have to operate in public. Groceries must be bought, kids must be dropped off, errands must be run. We have a very active cul-de-sac, can’t avoid everybody, should I wear a sign? I don’t want infect the Sac kids and their parents but I don’t want to ignore them either.

The problem was my eyes looked hideous as you can see from the picture above. I’m much cooler looking with Pink Eye right? During the day it wasn’t too hard because I could just go the too cool for school rout and drop the shades to cover my unclean state. But at night it was tough.

Wanted to get a little mcReeses mcFlurry on the way home from the mcPodcast, well I had to look away from the dude at the window for fear he wouldn’t serve me. Then I realized he became more frightened I might stick up the joint, so I sped away.

Need to hit the Kroger on the way home from tee ball but now it’s dark, what to do? Do I stare people right in the eye and dare them to comment, shout Unclean! Unclean! if I see someone get within two kroger-meters of my position. Do I just look down in shame and avoid all eye contact what ever? It’s a quandary.

I went with the for shame eyes down method, if you were wondering. I really wanted to shout Unclean! just to see what happened.

My eyes are clear now and apparently I was only contagious the first 24 hours or so. But I was quite the social pariah there for a while.

Thankfully my long national nightmare is over.

Until the next snotty little beast infects me with something.

Parenting is great!

 

 

Diary of a SAHD: Year round Nativity Scene? Sure why not.

So I guess we’re into this phase now. You know, the phase where your 4 year old asks questions you’re not smart enough to answer.

You wanna tell this face that he will die someday?

You wanna tell this face that he will die someday?

I’m not talking about why is the sky blue? Or if gravity is so strong how can I just yank grass out of the ground? Or my favorite, Why can’t we pass everybody on the road? No, those are easy. Basic physics and traffic laws gives us the answers to all of that.

I’m talking about questions from Frank about heaven, and dying, and when will he die, and how will God find him to take him to heaven when he dies. Again basic theology and some good ole gospel talk has the answers for the questions, but really offers nothing for the fear and uncertainty of a 4 year old child who just became aware of his mortality and is now afraid to die.

I will say this, I was worried Christmas was becoming this gift grab, with total emphasis on how much stuff he was getting. When we started to explain about, death, heaven and Jesus being the way to get there, he tossed out this grenade, “If Christmas is celebrating Jesus’ birth why don’t we leave the Manger up and celebrate that all the time?” Good question.

Well, because we have to decorate for Valentines day silly!

Haha. Wow that was a question I was not prepared for in the least. So he appears to be thinking about more than gifts and Santa at Christmas. I gotta believe he’s not the only kid who’s had that thought process. The problem: what’s the answer? Is there one? I mean a good one, not my flippant Valentine’s Day thing.

We kept Easter low key gospel wise because we chickened out. With all the death talk and questions about eternity we weren’t sure we wanted to restart that conversation by saying Jesus’s dad sent him here to kill him so we can live. Unfortunately that was the perfect opportunity to do it, but like I said we got skeert and we like our sleep too much. Did I mention all this life actualization comes in the wee hours of the morning?

Sunday brunch kids, embrace it. Great time to ask stuff like this. Who couldn’t field these questions over a plate of eggs and chicken nuggets at 11am? At 2am there are several synapses not firing, hell both of my eyes may not be open. That’s another, possibly tougher conversation than year round Nativity Scenes.

Time of day not withstanding, you would think it would be easy enough to say, well we just celebrate birthdays one day a year, like mommy and daddy and AM do. The problem is we put the Chritmas stuff up mid December and take it down New Year’s eve day. So the man made Christmas “season” turns out to be harder to explain than the actual human birth of Jesus.

After all of that the question remains and the answer just as elusive. Why don’t we celebrate the birth of the Savior of the world all the time? Be advised I’m assuming the people who read and follow here are smart enough to understand we are a family who believes but doesn’t require you to. If you don’t that’s great, but you still have something to add.

Having a different set of beliefs doesn’t shield you from your kid asking a question about heaven or God or Jesus. It just means we’ll probably answer those questions differently. That’s ok too. There is always something to be learned from parents as they relate to their kids about serious life and death questions regardless of philosophical approach.

Anyway, what’s the answer? Why not celebrate the birth of God’s son with a manger scene displayed year round? Would save me from having to drag it out every December, but my laziness can’t be the final answer.

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you dare.

You know the drill, answer in the comment section.

 

 

Ponies in my pocket: The night of a thousand pees.

I’m sorry Whitney. I lied to you. Well, I didn’t really lie so much as I inadvertently omitted a few key pieces of information when we were talking potty training the other day. While it’s true getting a kid to be full on potty trained, where they can clean themselves, wash up, turn off the light, and close the door, is possibly the greatest human achievement aside from landing on the moon, there can still be issues. And they be nighttime issues.

So Frank is a certified, licensed, bonded and insured pottier. He’s qualified to potty indoors and outdoors by himself. He prefers outdoors which is to say, “Daddy I have to potty, can I pee in the forrest?” The forrest being the line of trees that separates our backyard from the next property, an undeveloped plot of land that has seen far too much of Frank. Before I can answer the moon is out and Frank is watering the indigenous vegetation.

Damn-it Frank!

Damn-it Frank! The potty boy, pee in the potty!

But all those fancy credentials and experience aside, Frank still has the occasional workplace accident.

It has been 0 days since our last workplace accident.

Around 1am on a clam Friday night I notice Frank’s door open as I come to bed. I peek in and see my #1 child laying across the bed, half in and half on the floor. I step to pick him up and rearrange things for him and I’m greeted with a splash. It was a true WTF moment. Turns out the what was a giant puddle of pee in the door way. Not sure if this was some sort of perimeter defense he set up or he slept his way to what he thought was the bathroom or forrest and let fly.

Undaunted but with slightly warmer feet, I get to Frank. Oh guess what, he’s soaking wet almost from head to toe. The bed is wet, the pillow is wet, the blankets are wet, the carpet around his bed is wet.

WTF!

Only Perry the Platypus escaped the carnage, Lenny/Lambie (Lenny goes to Finland for the full 411 on that situation), Dog, Mickey, they all got caught in the field of fire. It was a massacre.

Frank’s just standing there, still in a sleep induced stupor. He managed to get off one question, “Daddy why am I soaking wet?” Indeed Frank, indeed.

All peed out and no place to sleep.

All peed out and no place to sleep.

Well, I ain’t cleaning this up tonight. This won’t be a wet cloth with some club soda operation. This is a full on code 5 industrial, requiring my heavy duty carpet shampooer and some serious laundry cycles, plus stuffed animal triage. In other words it’ll wait till Saturday morning. Frank, having no clean sheets now, got dry PJ’s and slept in the recovery ICU, aka between mommy and daddy. This normally means a spleen-ectomy for me, courtesy of Frank’s knees. But we have dueling adjustable beds now so our mattress is really two smaller mattresses squeezed together to form a king.

Frank got stuck in the crevice between the two and only the left half of his body was visible most of the night. Never fazed him so we let him be. I was getting a back ache just seeing that, but he woke up around nine the next morning, extracted himself and was right as rain.

Always the trooper, Frank cleaned up his trains so I could have a clean run at the carpet. He only stepped in the puddle once.

Midget#2 on the other hand was intent on stopping the operation. Not sure if this was some Green Peace protest against industrial equipment or what, but she did everything short of laying herself in the pathway of the carpet cleaner. Once she succeeded and we shut everything down to address her concerns it turns out all she wanted was for me to carry her two princess ponies or whatever they were, in my pocket while I cleaned. She saw them go safely in my pocket and she walked away happy. Cleaning operations commenced and went smoothly. Frank’s linens were laundered and all animals antiseptic-ized.

Of course as this always goes, since I had the damn thing out I might as well address those coffee stains on the stairs.

Unbeknownst to me, while stair operations were in full swing, midget #2 figured out how to undress herself and remove her diaper. She appeared at the top of the now clean stairs completely unclothed, holding a tragically mismatched pair of pants and shirt, babbling something about, “Mess on the ground.”

It took me a few seconds but connecting the dots, she was in PJ’s – now has pants and a shirt in her hands – is yelling about a mess. She must have baptized her closet.

Yep. Back up the stairs with the carpet cleaner. We are now at -1 days without a workplace accident. Is that even possible?

So Whitney I will say this, it might not get better right away once they become full fledged pottiers, but it gets more funny almost instantly, in a sleep depriving, tearfully tragic sort of way.

Good luck!