Zany

Emmi's kindergarten class had their first project today. They picked a word, defined the word, made a poster showing the word and the definition, and then dressed up like the word.

Emmi's word?

Zany.

Her poster?

A bunch of crazily patterned papers cut into odd shapes all glued haphazardly to a poster board with ZANY in bold letters.

Her outfit?

Remind anyone of anything?

Anyone?

Perhaps this is coming to mind?

Pie.

The pig flu? It was nothing for Jill. She was sick for approximately 1.3 seconds. Just long enough to get her banned from school until Monday. Then Emmi got sick, and it seemed like she would follow Jill's pattern. Plus she got the much sought after Tamiflu (even if it took me and a very nice pharmacist forever to track it down). I thought we were golden when by day two she was not horrible. I emailed one of my friends that I thought Emmi was on the upswing. I obviously cursed myself. Upswing, it was not.

She was up all night, coughing. Which meant I was up all night listening to her cough and analyzing her breathing deciding at which point I used which medicine. At three am, she finally fell asleep just in time for a storm to roll in. Kenny and I were up another forty minutes with Jill the dog that was shaking like a damn leaf. Sometime around four I slipped into glorious dream land, only to be woken at 5:45 by Emmi.

"Mommy. Mommy. Where's my pie?" She was crying. She was frantic. I needed her to calm down, because her breathing was already not great. "Pie, Mommy."

I searched. I looked through her covers, under her bed, in her closet. And I had no idea why she wanted that stupid pie toy. Perhaps some strange dream? Maybe something Jill and her fought over. While Jill was sleeping, was Emmi dead set on getting the upper hand? I didn't have a fucking clue. All I know is that I searched for that stupid pie toy for forty-five minutes.

We gave up. Jill woke up. I made hot chocolate for the girls. Jill requested a movie. I set them in front of the TV with their hot chocolate, Emmi still wheezing away. I grabbed Emmi's Kenny's that Emmi claimed for herself ipod, loaded with the latest movie downloads.

"Mommy you found my pie!"

Pie. ipod. She had been trying to say ipod. I searched for a fucking toy pie for 45 minutes on less than three hours of sleep, and I knew where that damn ipod was the whole time.

Slippity Slide

Not for the faint of heart.

Or ones who do not enjoy pictures of broken bones and dislocated fingers. LAURA, I am talking to you. Remember when I tormented you by describing my stitches to you. Not even showing them to you. Just telling you about them. Those were good times. For me.

It's a good thing I can handle a little broken bones and stitches who am I kidding I cover my eyes during Grey's Anatomy. Because my kid's finger? It's not right.

She fell during gymnastics last week while walking to the next event. Genius. Her finger jammed into the springboard floor, and the cry that followed definitely said hurt. But then she cried for about two minutes and was done. I thought about taking her to the ER just in case, but I didn't want to expose her to the swine flu. Awesome planning on my part, because now she has a broken finger and the swine flu. The next days she seemed fine, there was no bruise, nothing.

Then yesterday I noticed her finger looked like this.

Of course, I brought her to the doctor, who sent her for an x-ray, now infecting all of the radiology department at the nearby hospital with the swine flu. It's cool. Everybody can use a healthy dose of swine flu, right? So they x-rayed and poked and prodded and talked about surgery.

And then this morning. Her finger looked like this.

Almost normal. Slippity slide right back into place.

Caterpillars and Pigs

Yesterday, our family doctor gave us some very bad news. Jill can't go back to school for at least seven days. SEVEN days? Is he trying to kill me? Is my blood pressure not high enough? The kid is not even that sick. But she may or may not have a certain illness.
And now she has gotten her sister sick, which means I am now busy hunting down Tamiflu. Emmi has to be treated, because of her pre-existing conditons. And so now they are both sentenced to at least seven days at home. They must be fever free for three days before they can go back to school. I am sure they will be fine. However, I am not sure I am going to make it. Nor am I sure the world's population of butterflies will survive.

Do you think caterpillars can get the piggie flu?

All the caterpillars have names. Mommy, Daddy, Emmi, Jill, Madelyn (her sister on her dad's side), Allie (her best friend), and Ally (Emmi's best friend). Apparently, Emmi (the real one, not the caterpillar) just squished one of the Allies. There is a fight I am pretending not to hear.

Donut know when to shut up.

Quite often a police car or two is parked in front of the kids' schools. I have inquired about this before, and learned they are required to stop by each school a certain number of times each week. One or two police cars is not all that unusual. Four seemed a bit much.

But when I walked in, all four officers stood laughing and talking in the foyer. They all said hello, as I walked by. Being the smartass I am, I quipped, "Those kindergartners giving you trouble?"

The smallest of the officers laughs and replies, "No ma'am. Just hanging out."

Not knowing when to shut up, I go on. "Well, four police officers 'hanging out' in front of the school kind of makes the mommies nervous. Maybe you guys should go hang out across the street." I glance back over my shoulder as I say across the street, getting a glimpse of the only building across the street.

A donut shop.

Silence. And I am parked in a fire zone.

The Cat's Meow

Halloween is right around the corner. I happen to love Halloween. I get into the costumes and the candy and the scaring of the neighborhood children. Did I tell you how last year Kenny hid in the bushes, set Emmi and Jill out front with the candy dish, then scared the crap out of a group of about ten junior high kids when they came to trick or treat at our house? The best part of the whole thing was the neighbor across the street video taped it from his driveway where he was handing out candy. The girls screamed. But the boys? They ran! And screamed, high pitched little squeals. We heard kids telling the story for the rest of the night and for several weeks after. Jill is still known as the kid whose dad hid in the bushes on Halloween. I am already planning what we will do this year. It has to top last year. We have to live up to our reputation. And I should probably also get with the program in the Halloween costume department.

Emmi's we have figured out. I actually lucked out. Sitting in my bedroom is a picture of Jill at four and Emmi at seven months. They are decked out in the Halloween costumes. Jill is a pink witch, Emmi a black cat. The picture cracks me up, because of what you can't see. Emmi could not hold her head up. So to get the shot, we had to put a pillow under the white screen, lift Emmi's head, then click the picture before her head clunked down. It was hysterical. And a bit sad. But mostly funny, because everyone, including Emmi, was laughing. And somehow, the picture is perfect. A few weeks ago, Emmi noticed the picture for, perhaps, the first time. And insisted that she MUST be a pink witch for Halloween. Then, by random luck, I cleaned the storage bins in the garage (That isn't the lucky part. That part fucking sucked.), and shoved at the bottom of one was the pink witch costume. Preserved in perfect condition, lacking only black tights. Hell yes. One down, one to go.

Jill has been more difficult. First she was going to be Demi Lavato. I assumed that would work out as good as the Hannah Montana costume of last year. She would deem the wig too itchy, the jacket too hot, and the shoes too tight. Therefore ending up in a white t-shirt, a purple skirt, and flip-flops, looking pretty much like she does everyday. I vetoed that idea. She moved on to Taylor Swift, because she could "wear her real hair" and just carry her guitar. Right. I can see where this is going. I am going to end up carrying that guitar all through the damn neighborhood, while, no doubt, carrying Emmi at the same time. Veto again. Then I had a brilliant idea. Jill and her friends play this game. The Cheetah Game. It basically consists of chasing the boys that she thinks are cute around on the playground, while calling themselves The Cheetah Team. She now loves cheetahs. And Tyler. But we are not allowed to talk about how cute Tyler is. I suggested she be a cheetah. A tail. Some ears. I am sure I could find something.

Something would be one word for the costumes I found. Hooker would be another.

For that sassy little eight-year-old, who loves come hither looks and flipping her tail around. The website promises me she will be the "cat's meow" in this one.

And I know, perhaps, only my child loves cheetahs. So for the rest of you.

Don't worry. It now comes in sizes 4-6x, too!

A day in pictures.

Kenny and I were out running errands, when we stopped behind a handyman at a light. Since we have our landscaping company info on our truck, I am in the habit of sizing up other people's advertisements on their vehicles. At first I was just tearing apart Handyman's unfortunate spelling abilities, until I noticed his bumper sticker.

"Dude. Kenny. That guy totally has a sticker that says 'Heavily Armed. Easily Pissed.' Oh yeah. That is the guy I want to let in my house to work on my shit. Maybe I could tell him I don't like the way he tiles, and then he could get pissed....wait a second. LOOK! His other bumper sticker says "Dare to resist drugs and violence.' What?! Dare to resist violence and heavily armed?!"

I knew I needed a picture. Out came the blackberry. Click. Click. Click. Roll. Roll.

Fuck! The stupid roller ball was stuck, and the camera would not zoom. "Kenny, I need that picture for my blog," I cried in despair. But it was too late. He had turned, and the damn roller ball was still stuck. No zoom. No picture. Fail.

Commence pouting.

But then, wouldn't you know it. Something better, even more amazing, came along. A better picture opportunity! We pulled along side a police officer shaving his face while driving in a school zone. You can't talk on your phone in a school zone, but shaving your face is cool? This. This would totally make up for the missed armed and pissed shot.

Out came the camera. Click. Tap. Click. Phone lock stuck. Motherfuckingstupidfucker. Why!

Further into despair I sunk. "That picture would have made up for it."

Pouting the rest of the drive, I sat looking out the window. But then? There is a God, and he is good. Because right there. Right next to me. Was a man pushing a dog in a swing. Dog. In. A. Swing. I am going to get my picture. I am. Phone out, unlocked, zoom working. Hell yes. My thumb hovered over the shutter button, pausing long enough for puppy pusher to notice me. Faster than I click the button, he takes the dog from the swing.

I was heartbroken. I needed those pictures. For my blog. For you.

But all was not lost. I had a plan. An idea. It was genius. "I can draw the pictures, Kenny!" He looked at me like I was stupid. "Tricia, you need to get a job. You have too much time on your hands."

I could have been insulted. Instead? I smirked. "You totally know that is going on my blog. With a picture."