to pink eye or not to pink eye

Most, if not all,  parents have experienced the issue of sickness in a child.  And when one sends their child to daycare/preschool one might expect an increase of dis-ease.

I've been very lucky that I have myself a healthy child.  Aside from the occasional snotty nose/cough case, Milo hasn't had so much as a fever.  Knock on wood, of course.  I really empathize with those parents who have had case after case of high fever, strep throat, ear infection and whathaveyou with their child(ren).

So when my daycare calls me to please pick up your child, he has pink eye...I'm on it.  And Fast.  Because, well, I have to be.

I take him to the doc...and guess what...no pink eye.

I shrug it off, no big deal, false alarm...it's cool...

One week later I get the phone call:  Please come pick up your child, he has pink eye.  For real this time.  So I rush rush and call out of work for the next day and make that doc appointment.

Guess what.  He doesn't have pink eye.

It's a simple case of NOTHING. AGAIN.

Now, I really would like to maintain my rep of being one of the cool parents. 

"Milo's mom is so NICE.  She's so laid back!  We are so blessed to have such great parents!" (and that was said verbatim...thankyouverymuch)

But really?  I'm beyond the whole "well at least he's healthy! It's good to be on the safe side!" blahblahblah because I am, lets say...very frustrated...

Because I'm losing LOTS of money on this whole leave work early/ call out of work/ drive 45 minutes to his doctor/ still paying for a full week of daycare when he isn't even there SAGA.

Because if they are going to call me everytime he sneezes or rubs his eyes, things are going to get the opposite of laid back...

the classic 2 year old with Santa picture(s)

On Saturday we drove out to one of the numerous places that are providing Santa appearances.  I waited in line for AN HOUR while daddy and son roamed/browsed around.



Choo-Choo!!



And this kept his attention nicely.  For 2 minutes.  Which is an hour in toddler time, really.  Nice sweater, yeah?

So by the time it was our turn to sit with Santa...

I think the hour wait was totally worth it.  Yes, indeed.

Coindentally, the next day, the local fire department whirled into our neighborhood...no line, no waiting, we were able to saunter right up to the 'ol guy in red....

however...

Milo wasn't having any of it...

Better luck next year?  Maybe so??

The lesson here?  Perhaps it's: no matter how long you stand in line to see Santa, Milo thinks you're handing him to an arsonist who needs a shave.  And perhaps laser eye surgery.

Idea!  Maybe if Santa was holding a Buzz Lightyear I'd get my angelic pose holiday picture...

Our Lord and Savior, Buzz Lightyear

OH MY, is it just me or is it getting all kinds Merry fuckin' festive in here, ya'll??

Also?  Crystallized Ginger, finally my fingers grasp your shiny skin!

That's right.  I took a picture. 5 minutes of my life.  Right here.



Now I can get on with my in-the-zone cookie bakin' self. Oh, it's not over until I master the Spicy Ginger Crinkle Cookie.

So, my son has himself a fascination with a little known trilogy called Toy Story. Lemme back it up.

two times.  Haaaaaay!!

Every year, since I've been married, the husb and I have parked our happy assess in the parking lot of a nearby Hallmark.  We search their considerate and sap-dripping aisles for the parfait ornament  -that represents our year- to hang on our pretty little Charlie Brown tree.  We have a bride and groom for the year we got married, along with a silver "E" representing my new last name.  We have a lovely set represeting a wine bottle, cheese and a wine glass that displays our love of...well, wine and cheese.  (I have a cat named, Gouda, fer golly-gee sake).  And, of course, we now have several ornaments that relate to our first years as parents.

This shit ain't cheap.  But the memories are priceless....(snort/cough/chug)

And the joy of unwrapping our ornaments and decorating the tree each year and rediscovering/remembering the past years over a bottle of Frangelica is, again, priceless.

So, anysap, this year, as usual, we each bought an ornament representing our year. 

Apparently, you need to do this in, like, October, because Hallmark was seriously lacking. 

You see, Milo has a severe interest in Toy Story.

Guess who was sold out of Woody AND Buzz?

So, we ended up buying him a mini John Deere tractor -representing how much fun he would have riding in the back of Grandma's John Deere.  This here current hometown of ours -in all liklihood- won't be our dwelling place forever so the husb and I figured this also represented the culture with which we live and raising our first born.

Ahem, yes.

And all this is just as well, because I think one look at a Christmas ornament that represents his savior, Buzz Lightyear, he would not take kindly to just leaving it "hang" on a tree...

how to handle the Traumatic Tempers of a Tantruming Toddler

Say that 5 times fast...

The Trying Times of a sad/mad/confused/MY WAY NOW little man has been a daily dose of tylenol in this house.  And in the store.  And in the car.

And it amazes me how quickly he turns it on.  Then moments later, with tears rolling down his cheeks, a smile and a giddy jump ensues when the promise of a lollipop ("Lottibop!") or chocolate ("ohhh, chalk-ette!") enter his precious, selectively hearing ears...

And it's not just the whine/moan/scream...sometimes it goes into head banging on the floor, biting his own hand, or even slapping his own face.

I don't like this behavior. Not a fan.

And I certainly don't want to just, "Here, have the flippin' lolllipop! Just stop hurting yourself and STOP WHINING!!" Because any behavior modification 101 person would tell you NOT to give in to a tantrum.  "Don't reinforce the negative behavior!!"

But, honestly?  I couldn't even tell you how many times I've just handed over the bucket of lollipops that live on the top shelf of our pantry at 7am -even before he has to ask.  He just opens the pantry door and points to the halloween bucket that the prized sugar-on-a-stick rests.

(I am weak at 7am.  And Milo has caught onto this.  You want a chocolate cake and 72 oreos?  Fine...and here's a case of Merlot to pair with it.)

I justify this by knowing he will eat his organic, gluten free, low sodium, no artificial preservatives or additives cereal -paired nicely with his organic 2% milk for breakfast.  And recently?  I've turned him on to the vegetarian "chicken" nuggets. And he'll drink up the Odwalla "superfood" beverage.  Thank you, Jesus...

So, really, *I win* when I hand him a lollipop first thing in the morning.  Sort of...

An artist is at work here, people.

God DAMN FUCKING cookies from scratch.
GOD damn  1994 stove that doesn't heat evenly or clean itself.
STupid Fucking smoke detector who is like a crack whore on constant PMS wailing at any sign of innocent cooking or baking!
Forgetful SPACE CADET MOI who assumes I have enough butter AND FUCKING SUGAR in the house to make these FUCKING COOKIES FROM scratch!!
You know who sells "crystalized ginger"?  NOBODY. Or all the stores are sold out because of chipper cheerFULL free-for-all Betty Homemakers of the world STOCK PILED THEM IN THEIR FUCKING CUSTOM BUILT 500 SQUARE FOOT PANTRY.

Are cookies supposed to be burnt on the bottom and RARE on the inside?

I EVEN BOUGHT CREAM OF TARTAR.

I don't even know what that is!!  But it was on sale and apparently people buy this during the month of December!!

There's flour on my CEILING.  On my POPCORN FUCKING CEILING that my husband and I just painted!!

PAINTED! You know how much fun painting a popcorn ceiling is!??!!  OH, IT'S LOTS.

And THEN...I don't have the right PAN, the thermometer thingy, or fucking PAM spray. 

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I NEED 4.5 INCH FLUTED INDIVIDUAL TART PANS WITH REMOVEABLE BOTTOMS??

I got me a removeable bottom.

It's called "go to fucking aisle 3 at the grocery store, buy a bag of oreos and bring THOSE to the fucking cookie swap!!"

I'll layer those bitches on wax paper in an airtight container and tie a goddamn red ribbon around it.  And THAT will be THAT.

I could go for some curry right about now...

disclaimer: no child was harmed during the joke of a sedative-hypnotic drug

I worked last Saturday (yes, Thanksgiving weekend, booooo), so the husb took Milo to a place that rhymes with Foam Weepo.  He sent me this pic via picture mail.

I hate missing the successful, calm, no whining/running shopping trips.  Or maybe daddy slipped him a Quaalude in the parking lot...