Fodder Dodder Canoe Trip

There is something magical that happens every spring on a river in Arkansas.

The annual Fodder Dodder Canoe Trip.

Canoeing and magical together in the same sentence???  What?

That's right.  Magical.

Because to a little girl having her big, strong daddy all too herself for two whole days is very magical.

He is her hero.

Her knight in shining armor.

Her very own daddy.

Just nothing but time and a river to spend together.

She knows her daddy is all there for her.

When he should could be working.

He choose her.

And that, my friends, is magical.

True love between a daddy and his princess. 

And his really big hat.

And that was Wednesday.

Some days make you want to crawl back under the covers and sleep right through.

Today was one of those days. It started off fast and furious as we all had to get ready for school, work and volunteering. The days where all of us have to be clean and out the door early are very stressful. I am sure we aren't the only household that feels that way! I bet all of you can relate.

As we headed out the door, we noticed that our dog was vomiting...blood.  We had to leave RIGHT THAT VERY MINUTE and we couldn't really care for her the way she needed.  I was concerned about the blood and made a mental note to call the vet. ASAP. 

And by ASAP, I really mean 3 hours later.

Wednesday is my day to volunteer for both kids' teachers.  I love this morning because I can actually accomplish something important for someone else.  It is the best feeling to get a job done.  Anyway, I started my pile of work only to find all the copiers were either jammed or needed repair.  I was so frustrated.  I hate the thought of letting anyone down, especially teachers.  I know how hard they work and how much they depend on volunteers.  I fought my way through a couple of paper jams and ended up getting the work done.  Between the machines and my little "helper" who wouldn't sit in the stroller, it was an irritating morning.  In a last ditch effort to maintain my composure I handed him the phone to call grandma.  It was a lifesaver and gave me ten minutes to finish.

Next, we moved on to Wit's music class.  My great friend, Alana, teaches Kindermusik.  We spent an hour singing, dancing, swinging, tickling, exploring instruments and movement.  I love this time with Wit.  It was the bright spot in this crummy day.

Little did I know it was going to get a whole lot worse.

After class, I called the vet to ask about the blood Bristow was vomiting.  They were concerned but it didn't require an appointment.  Thank goodness!  The bad news was that I had to give her Pepto Bismol every hour.  The thought of shooting 3TSP pepto down my dog's throat with a turkey baster really didn't sound like a whole lot of fun.  My smart husband thought she would just drink it out of a bowl and I thought he was CRAZY.  Despite my effort to prove him wrong, she did the very thing he predicted and drank it right out of the bowl.

Smart alec.

Anyway, I was relieved that I didn't have to wrangle a seventy pound dog to the ground and pump HOT PINK LIQUID into her stomach only for her to vomit it out on my carpet.

You're jealous, aren't you?

It seemed like everything that could go wrong today  did.  Nothing I touched worked or cooperated.  I was left feeling tired and run down.  Wednesday nights we meet with our Home Church group.  I admit that I walked in with a major attitude.  I was wiped out and mad at the day.  So, I really was not mentally or emotionally prepared for what happened next.

"Isn't that just kick- you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck fantastic?"  (bonus points for naming that TV quote)  This day just spiraled into madness!

My baby got hurt.  He was running toward the dining room chairs and fell into one of the sharp edges.  It wasn't a big cut, but it was deep enough that we worried about scarring.  We consulted a family friend who is a doctor.   He suggested going to Urgent Care to get it glued.  Wit wanted his favorite friend to go with him, so Skip opted to take them while I stayed back with the other kids and our Home Church.

GUILT.  MAJOR MOM GUILT.

Anyway, they got to Urgent Care one minute after they locked up for the night.  The only other option was the ER.  There, they got him all cleaned up and glued together. 

One funny thing happened while they were at the hospital.  Our friend texted his wife and said that the doctor thinks that he and Skip are, well...a couple. It was a much needed laugh given my low emotional state.

Finally this day is at the end.  (And, thankfully, so is this post.)  We took our brave little patient to the Golden Arches for a car full of yummy medicine...aka 49 cents of pure awesome.  THE CONE.  There's a reason McD's owns the world.

Wit is so proud of his ice cream cone, his owie, and his new bear from the hospital.  That he promptly named, "Bob."

Long story short, I wish I could have stayed in bed and hid from this no-good-horrible day.

*sigh*

Here's to a better tomorrow without bloody dog vomit, broken machines, and trips to the ER.

With this "wing"...

On this day, 13 years ago, I married my best friend. It was a cold day in December with gray skies and a threat for snow. I didn't care. My heart was full of excitement and indescribable love.

Surrounded by our closet friends and family we united as man and wife. Our candlelit ceremony was perfect and simple. As I stood before my soon-to-be husband, I realized that my life was blessed beyond measure.

During the vows, Skip was so nervous that he accidentally said, "with this wing." Then very subtly flapped his elbows in an attempt to lighten the mood. When it was my turn, I didn't want Skip to feel silly by misspeaking. So what did I do? Never to be outdone, I said, "with this wing" and I flapped my arms. Only not so subtly.

In hindsight, I wish I would have realized that THIS WAS MY MOMENT and not flapped like a chicken on the day that I had been dreaming about since I was five. Because the truth is, no one heard Skip's blunder. EVERYONE heard mine. I have a big mouth and very flappy arms. Apparently.

My favorite emotion is laughter through tears. That is what I will take away from our wedding. Laughter mixed with tears of joy.

Skip makes me laugh...everyday. I love that about our marriage. Even in times of stress, we always find the laughter. I will admit sometimes the laughter is on my behalf. I am still the loudest and the flappiest.

I love you, Skip. I still can't believe God chose you for me.

I don't deserve you...

We are more Snot than Kisses these days.

We now have the trifecta of contagiousness here at Snot and Kisses. Three kids, three different illnesses, 1 week.

Sunday...I kept Wingman home from church because he had a little cough. Cute really. Plus, it afforded me a glorious morning of sleep.

Monday...Loulabelle came home from school BURNING up. My apologies to all you other preschool families that were exposed during that 2 hours. If your child does come down with with a horrible sore throat, don't bother with the doctor. "It's just a virus!!"

Tuesday...Full blown ickiness. Lou's fever never broke 102. She was miserable. She was too hot to even snuggle. Her skin hurt.

Wednesday...Early morning trip to the doctor. Lovely diagnosis that made me so happy. On a whim, I had the doc look at Wingman. Wouldn't you know it? Double ear infection for him. Pat myself on the back and call me Mother Of The Year. Oh, the doc's office was VERY appreciative. Two kids, two co-pays.

Thursday...Things were looking up. Lou was feeling better, more like her spunky self. Wingman doing great. He never really acted sick. The part that makes me grumpy is that he hates the medicine. Big mess. Big, pink, sticky mess all over baby and mommy.

Friday...Everyone great and out the door this morning. Big smile on my face as I head to my weekly scrapbook date. I knew it was too good to be true. Skip called from the school where he was the Mystery Reader. Z-Man had the throw-ups. Twice. Everywhere.

So now I am holding my breath. Here's what I am afraid of...

Z-Man could still catch the viral sore throat, or the double ear infection.
Loulabelle could catch the ear infection or the stomach crud.
Wingman could catch the viral sore throat or the throw ups.

While you run along and enjoy this wonderful Friday, say a little prayer that our Lysol doesn't run out.

**********UPDATED***********************

NO need to worry anymore. He is now wearing his underwear on his head and singing "Dontcha wish your girlfriend is hot like me." Thank you for that, Alvin and the Chipmunks.

I think the crisis is over. For now.

Translation.

The dreaded phrase a sleep-deprived, frumpy mommy never wants to hear.

"It's just a virus."

Translation:

"Thank you for choosing to drive up here this morning at the crack of dawn. You don't look THAT bad. I see here that your co-pay is $25 whether we find something wrong with your child, or not. Please pay at the end of the visit.

There is really nothing we can do with a viral infection except wait it out. She should be good in 2-3 days, leaving you completely sleepless and ugly until then.

Now here is the carrot that I am going to dangle so you don't scratch my eyes out...There is a slight (minute, actually) possibility that her strep culture will show positive in a couple of days (don't hold your breath) and if so, we will call a prescription in for you. In the meantime, you WILL use up the entire bottles of both Motrin and Tylenol with your alternate usage in order to (maintain sanity) keep her comfortable. You might even slip some for yourself. It's your call.

Just look on the bright side, you can stay in your jammies the rest of the day to snuggle. Isn't that what all parents really want? And gas is $0.35 cents cheaper here than where you live. (Not that you need even one drop of it because your tank is completely full of $3.45 gas.)

Don't forget the cashier on the way out. Thank you and have a nice day."

Keep your bad manners to yourself, please.

I am sick. As in, can't breathe and my head is stuck under an eighteen-wheeler kind of sick. I am also REALLY pregnant, as in 36 days to go kind of pregnant. So with that in mind, I muster up some amazing faux-strength and head out to the grocery store.

My swollen feet carry me from aisle to aisle as I put who-knows-what into my cart. Finally, it's time to check out. The clerk was very kind to me as he emptied my cart and made small talk.

But the bagger lady. Hmmmmm. She could have used the good-ole "if you can't say anything nice" lecture from her mama!

Bagger: You are really pregnant.

Me: Yes. I know.

Bagger: (looking disapprovingly from my face to my stomach to my feet) How much longer?

Me: 5 weeks.

Bagger: Well, you look awful. Good luck!

Me:(this is what I said in my head) Oh, yeah! Do you want a piece of me, old bagger lady?

Me:(what I really said) Thank you.

Drama, drama, drama.

Yesterday, spider killing. Today, stomach flu.


We are like the weather around here. If you get tired of one thing, it will change by tomorrow. Life is never dull.

Please remove my head from the vice!

This has been a week of headaches. Not the manage-with-drug kind, but the full-blown-knock- me-upside-the-head-with-a-frying-pan kind.

I don't know if it is the heat. The sun. Or that I have stopped drinking caffeine. Probably all the above.

Whatever the reason, it is bringing me down. I don't feel "myself", I feel blah and super crabby. I have snapped at my husband, my kids, my dog, the lifeguard at the pool. Everyone is on my hit list.

But seriously, the lifeguard probably deserved it. One of the qualities I look for in a possible life or death situation is the ability to see. Call me picky, but I like my lifeguards to have their hair out of their eyes so they can actually see my child, or the pool, or anything further away than an inch. Maybe my standards are just set too high.

Somebody please make it stop hurting! WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

How To Tell If Your Husband Is Really Sick...

I now know that Skip is not faking his recent illness. I had my doubts, but it is official. I left him tonight in his special chair watching "Legally Blonde". Not on DVD, rather the modified-to-fit-your-television-screen-with-commercials version (PAM!). Not only was he watching but it was on MUTE.

Let me break it down for you (read this next sentence slowly with emphasis on the italicized words). He was watching a chick flick, TV version, on mute. If you know him at all, that is so not how he behaves when it comes to television viewing. He has standards.

Yep, I would say he is really sick. Poor guy. I have not been very compassionate. I vaguely remember something about..."in sickness and in health."

Sorry, honey.