I have been up since 1:30 this morning, when little kid climbed into my bed complaining of an earache. He thrashed around on the bed, moaning loudly, and I thought, "Well, it doesn't get much worse than this."
Within moments of having that thought, he vomited down the side of my bed, on my laptop cord, and on the down comforter.
It pretty much only got worse from there.
I encouraged Mr. Ashley to go to another room and get some sleep around 3am, when I went outside to our detached laundry room in the cold night air in my tank top and underwear to throw a puke towel in the washer. That was a terrible idea, by the way, because now I have a puke washer but frankly, I am beyond caring. I will figure that problem out later. I will throw that towel away. I will get a new washing machine. Well, not really about the washing machine, but I wish. I have learned my lesson about at-home biohazard clean up, I was definitely doing it wrong.
Around 6am I finally began drifting to sleep when little kid said, "Mom? Mama?" in a slightly frantic voice.
I bolted upright to ask what was wrong, already scrambling for the puke bucket.
"I've got an idea for Minecraft."
"Mi--Minecraft? Really?"
"Yes." Something something, "brain" something something "crafting" something "Braincraft. Isn't that a cool idea?"
"It is. Braincraft, haha. That's funny," I said feeling delirious. "Let me put a television show on for you so I can lie down for just a minute right here next to you."
I immediately began to sink back into a haze between awake and asleep when I heard him again. "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"Did you like my Minecraft idea?"
I decided to give up and start our day, which mostly included lying on an air mattress in the living room, watching movies together and snuggling. It also involved an all day countdown to the return of his brother from school, which started 10 minutes after he got on the bus. His brother who he fights with and gets grounded over every single day. They love each other like crazy, literally, like crazy. Before he left Big Kid said, "I want to hug you, but I can't risk it," and little kid nodded solemnly in understanding.
I think between his fever, being up all night, and it being rainy and gray, he had no concept of time anymore. He kept setting the timer for 30 minutes so he could track the time until his bubby arrived. It was a very weird day, with no sun and time moving slowly but marked with a harsh buzzer at every 30 minute mark.
30 minutes before the expected arrival he turned on me, belligerent and furious that I had lied to him about what time the bus comes because he wanted his brother right that second.
It was a huge relief when Big Kid finally got home.
At this point I was a zombie, so I put on a movie and tried to doze for just a minute. But I guess I looked extremely snuggly because I had two boys and a dog on me within moments.
Which wasn't really that bad.
He seemed a lot better today and I thought we were in the clear, but soon after falling asleep tonight, I heard him moaning and realized he had a fever. I am ready for him to return to school. I mean, feel better. Or sleep. But we will be hanging out again tomorrow.
But hopefully not tonight.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Murphy Louis
This is Murphy.
If you gave him the choice between me and the sun, we would all be plunged into eternal darkness immediately. He worships me in a way that only a dog can, with big, soulful eyes (one brown, one blue), a constantly waggling tail, and much to the dismay of both of us, by pissing all over the floor whenever I'm too nice to him.
Recently I bought him a new collar and even though I knew not to speak to him as I presented it, especially not in that super exciting baby talk way, just fastening it around his neck made his poor bladder explode. Then he tries to frantically lick it up. It's pretty admirable, sad, and kind of dumb. But, man, is he sweet.
As much as he loved our white German Shepherd, Lily, he has thrived as the only dog in the house, even more so as an only child when the kids are at school. (The cat doesn't consider herself a child). He watches me all day, waiting for some eye contact or, better yet, a treat. He is thrilled beyond measure when we occasionally go back to bed in the morning (yeah, I do that), and I allow him the forbidden pleasure of sleeping in our bed with me. He stands awkwardly to my side as I try to sleep, staring at me with nervous pleasure and confusion as to what he should be doing. He doesn't really relax or snuggle much. Ever.
We joke that he has social anxiety because, well, he does. He is vigilant in his defense of me, though, and he's obviously good too because I have not been hurt or kidnapped even once since we got him. No one is allowed to walk on our property and since he doesn't understand property lines, near our property either. Especially other dogs, he hates those fuckers. He once had a several month long war going on with an orange, wiry doormat thrown over a firepit that looked suspiciously like a neighbor's Golden Retriever. Every dog, real or imagined, is a potential danger, probably scouting things out so they can move in and steal my attention from him. He acts like Cujo in his ferocity when confronting them from the safety of the back porch, unless he accidentally gets loose and has his opportunity to attack--and then it's a little awkward. There's some hanging back while barking, looking at me nervously, like, "I've got this but you're going to break it up, right?" knowing I will scoop him up and take him back in immediately.
He also hates dancing as much as the kids do, often grabbing my pant leg with his teeth and trying to tug me away from the riled up children and the risks of a broken hip, I suppose. I must really suck at dancing.
Pearl, the cat, tolerates him but asserts her dominance all day long, which must be stressful to someone trying so valiantly to appear as second in command. And she doesn't pee all over herself every time I look at her or bark all damn day, so that's automatic bonus points there. He realizes his inferiority as a dog, tucking his comically pointy snout down when she passes and avoiding eye contact. Every time he comes in from the backyard, she waits on the back porch to jump on his back and herd him into the house which is completely unnecessary and probably demoralizing. But what are you going to do? She's a cat. She's pretty much the boss of everyone here.
As a lover of super soft things, I bought Pearl a lovely minky cat bed for Christmas. She found it in its bag before Christmas and tried to drag it out, choosing to just lay on top of the bag instead. After some hesitation, I finally just gave it to her--and she never looked at it again. In fact, she moved into the dog bed, which he really loved, and his treats and treasures are tucked beneath its cushion. Recently he's resorted to sleeping in a laundry basket with a comforter in it, and I've noticed that in the last two days, she's taken up part-time residence there now, too. What a jerk.
When I took the above photo, I was trying to take a photo of Pearl who was happily lying on the rug until I wanted a picture. Since Murphy was sitting beside me, sweet and compliant, as she paced around frantically trying to avoid the camera, I refocused on him. It made him extremely nervous--he felt like it was his time to shine but as not the smartest dog, he had no idea what was expected of him but was certain it was something. He yawned nervously, and then the cat launched herself onto his face, attacking him before inserting herself as unphotogenically as possible into every photo I tried to take.
It was ridiculous.
I finally swatted her away and coaxed his sad little nose back up for that one shot before his 15 seconds were up and she returned to steal the spotlight and refuse to have her photo taken.
Poor Murphy. Not the smartest dog and not really the boss of anything.
But I love him anyway.
If you gave him the choice between me and the sun, we would all be plunged into eternal darkness immediately. He worships me in a way that only a dog can, with big, soulful eyes (one brown, one blue), a constantly waggling tail, and much to the dismay of both of us, by pissing all over the floor whenever I'm too nice to him.
Recently I bought him a new collar and even though I knew not to speak to him as I presented it, especially not in that super exciting baby talk way, just fastening it around his neck made his poor bladder explode. Then he tries to frantically lick it up. It's pretty admirable, sad, and kind of dumb. But, man, is he sweet.
As much as he loved our white German Shepherd, Lily, he has thrived as the only dog in the house, even more so as an only child when the kids are at school. (The cat doesn't consider herself a child). He watches me all day, waiting for some eye contact or, better yet, a treat. He is thrilled beyond measure when we occasionally go back to bed in the morning (yeah, I do that), and I allow him the forbidden pleasure of sleeping in our bed with me. He stands awkwardly to my side as I try to sleep, staring at me with nervous pleasure and confusion as to what he should be doing. He doesn't really relax or snuggle much. Ever.
We joke that he has social anxiety because, well, he does. He is vigilant in his defense of me, though, and he's obviously good too because I have not been hurt or kidnapped even once since we got him. No one is allowed to walk on our property and since he doesn't understand property lines, near our property either. Especially other dogs, he hates those fuckers. He once had a several month long war going on with an orange, wiry doormat thrown over a firepit that looked suspiciously like a neighbor's Golden Retriever. Every dog, real or imagined, is a potential danger, probably scouting things out so they can move in and steal my attention from him. He acts like Cujo in his ferocity when confronting them from the safety of the back porch, unless he accidentally gets loose and has his opportunity to attack--and then it's a little awkward. There's some hanging back while barking, looking at me nervously, like, "I've got this but you're going to break it up, right?" knowing I will scoop him up and take him back in immediately.
He also hates dancing as much as the kids do, often grabbing my pant leg with his teeth and trying to tug me away from the riled up children and the risks of a broken hip, I suppose. I must really suck at dancing.
Pearl, the cat, tolerates him but asserts her dominance all day long, which must be stressful to someone trying so valiantly to appear as second in command. And she doesn't pee all over herself every time I look at her or bark all damn day, so that's automatic bonus points there. He realizes his inferiority as a dog, tucking his comically pointy snout down when she passes and avoiding eye contact. Every time he comes in from the backyard, she waits on the back porch to jump on his back and herd him into the house which is completely unnecessary and probably demoralizing. But what are you going to do? She's a cat. She's pretty much the boss of everyone here.
As a lover of super soft things, I bought Pearl a lovely minky cat bed for Christmas. She found it in its bag before Christmas and tried to drag it out, choosing to just lay on top of the bag instead. After some hesitation, I finally just gave it to her--and she never looked at it again. In fact, she moved into the dog bed, which he really loved, and his treats and treasures are tucked beneath its cushion. Recently he's resorted to sleeping in a laundry basket with a comforter in it, and I've noticed that in the last two days, she's taken up part-time residence there now, too. What a jerk.
When I took the above photo, I was trying to take a photo of Pearl who was happily lying on the rug until I wanted a picture. Since Murphy was sitting beside me, sweet and compliant, as she paced around frantically trying to avoid the camera, I refocused on him. It made him extremely nervous--he felt like it was his time to shine but as not the smartest dog, he had no idea what was expected of him but was certain it was something. He yawned nervously, and then the cat launched herself onto his face, attacking him before inserting herself as unphotogenically as possible into every photo I tried to take.
It was ridiculous.
I finally swatted her away and coaxed his sad little nose back up for that one shot before his 15 seconds were up and she returned to steal the spotlight and refuse to have her photo taken.
Poor Murphy. Not the smartest dog and not really the boss of anything.
But I love him anyway.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Parenting Tip
I just created an interpretive dance using my body to shape the letters of each of my children's names.
They are PISSED.
little kid's was easy to do and is a pretty catchy little routine, if I do say so myself.
Big Kid's, not so easy, and involved a squatting straddle move that he seemed to particularly hate.
Their hatred of this dance made them stop arguing with each other and unite against me, trying to force me to go into my room and close the door.
Every time they would peek in and check on me, I would be on the other side of the door, practicing my new dance moves.
I got a good amount of time alone in there.
They are PISSED.
little kid's was easy to do and is a pretty catchy little routine, if I do say so myself.
Big Kid's, not so easy, and involved a squatting straddle move that he seemed to particularly hate.
Their hatred of this dance made them stop arguing with each other and unite against me, trying to force me to go into my room and close the door.
Every time they would peek in and check on me, I would be on the other side of the door, practicing my new dance moves.
I got a good amount of time alone in there.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Bizzy Babee Winner
The winner of the Bizzy Babee nursing cover is Middea. So the world won't get to sneak a peek at her boobs or bare midriff, sorry world. Middea, please send your mailing address to me at ashleyquitefrankly (at) gmaildotcom
Thanks to Bizzy Babee for offering it and thanks to so many of you for entering.
(So, you ARE out there.)
Thanks to Bizzy Babee for offering it and thanks to so many of you for entering.
(So, you ARE out there.)
Saturday, February 23, 2013
First Memory
One of Big Kid's most interesting attributes is his memory. He remembers everything--he can tell you the exact date he got each of his stuffed animals, he can recall almost any fact he's ever heard, he memorizes song lyrics the first time, he is a fantastic speller because he remembers every word he's ever read, and he remembers things that happened before he was old enough to remember these things.
This is usually just an amusing and impressive quirk, and something that should serve him well in life. But one memory is very bizarre, and it is the one he has held onto the longest.
Big Kid swears he remembers life before birth.
Practically from the time he could talk, he would talk about being a baby and how before that it was light and then dark. At first I wrote this off as a young child trying to remember what it must have been like in someone's stomach or major timeline confusion. He also had some speech issues that made everything more interesting and confusing.
But as he grew, this story more or less stayed the same. Once he got a little older I pointed out that it would have been dark and then light, and he corrected me and said, "No, I'm talking about before that. It was light before I got into you and then it was dark. I remember the light. Then it was light again but a cold, crazy light. Then I don't remember after that."
That weirded me out but he was still young at the time, maybe 4 or 5.
I told him it is very unlikely he remembers being in the womb and he insisted, insulted, that he absolutely did and remembers the time before that, too. It always comes up briefly, usually apropos of nothing, and then is just as quickly dropped.
Today at the beach, he suddenly said, "I know there is a heaven."
"Yeah?"
We are barely religious. Big Kid went to a Jewish preschool, little kid went Lutheran, they've been to a few Methodist and Baptist churches but not even a Sunday school class. We all believe in a higher power but don't get into the logistics too often, other than helping others and appreciating life.
"Yes." he said with a certainty I both envy and respect. "I remember the light before the darkness."
So simple. So sure. So insanely profound.
"You've talked about that for a long time," I said, getting goose bumps in the sun.
"I can't forget."
I don't know what's going on with this, after roughly 6 years of discussing it, but I am starting to believe him. Or maybe I just really hope there is light before (and after) the darkness.
This is usually just an amusing and impressive quirk, and something that should serve him well in life. But one memory is very bizarre, and it is the one he has held onto the longest.
Big Kid swears he remembers life before birth.
Practically from the time he could talk, he would talk about being a baby and how before that it was light and then dark. At first I wrote this off as a young child trying to remember what it must have been like in someone's stomach or major timeline confusion. He also had some speech issues that made everything more interesting and confusing.
But as he grew, this story more or less stayed the same. Once he got a little older I pointed out that it would have been dark and then light, and he corrected me and said, "No, I'm talking about before that. It was light before I got into you and then it was dark. I remember the light. Then it was light again but a cold, crazy light. Then I don't remember after that."
That weirded me out but he was still young at the time, maybe 4 or 5.
I told him it is very unlikely he remembers being in the womb and he insisted, insulted, that he absolutely did and remembers the time before that, too. It always comes up briefly, usually apropos of nothing, and then is just as quickly dropped.
Today at the beach, he suddenly said, "I know there is a heaven."
"Yeah?"
We are barely religious. Big Kid went to a Jewish preschool, little kid went Lutheran, they've been to a few Methodist and Baptist churches but not even a Sunday school class. We all believe in a higher power but don't get into the logistics too often, other than helping others and appreciating life.
"Yes." he said with a certainty I both envy and respect. "I remember the light before the darkness."
So simple. So sure. So insanely profound.
"You've talked about that for a long time," I said, getting goose bumps in the sun.
"I can't forget."
I don't know what's going on with this, after roughly 6 years of discussing it, but I am starting to believe him. Or maybe I just really hope there is light before (and after) the darkness.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Yoga Uprising
I skipped yoga yesterday and went to the beach. It was worth it.
I could barter work hours at the studio for yoga. But then I'd have to work. So I'm torn on that one.
No recent sightings of the yoga goblin but there is a new guy who breathes like Cookie Monster. It's like a loud, deep growl on every exhale. Good for him and all, but it's annoying as hell. We also have another guy who speaks of himself in the third person frequently and tries to argue against opening the outside door for fresh air. I pretty much shout over him that the door needs to be opened when asked. If he wants to be hot, he can do it later.
Even though we're not taking hot yoga, they like to keep it hot in there. They try to chalk it up to some scientific yoga nonsense, but I think living in Florida is enough. There is nothing scientific about not turning the air on. I guess some people like to sweat?
At the last class there was a mini mutiny afterwards about the temperature. The teacher said the air was on and a few people grouped together to insist that it wasn't, or it wasn't low enough, and that it was unacceptable since we hadn't signed up for hot yoga. The instructor was a bit flustered over the uprising of her formerly zen students, and I'm hoping it means we have some cool air today because if I wanted to sweat a lot, I'd go back to jogging. Which I'm considering anyway since it gives me an excuse to go to the beach, and at the beach I do a lot of walking/wandering/sitting/non-aerobic activity that isn't really jogging at all.
I don't know. I just don't like exercise. I'm in a wedding this June and I'm 10 years older than all of the other bridesmaids, so that's where my motivation lies. Not an actual interest in a healthy lifestyle. God, no.
Let's hope the other students are quiet today and the air conditioning is booming.
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