On The Mend (For Real This Time)

When it came to my kids' illnesses, I used to think I could handle anything except high fevers. Now I can add dehydration to that list.

When I wrote my last post, everyone was on the mend. About 11:00 PM that evening, Zed woke up vomiting again. And again. And again. All night and morning long.

I took him to the doctor Wednesday morning and even though they said he was mildly dehydrated, there wasn't anything they could do for him. So I came home and paced.

And cleaned up more vomit.

I took him back to the doctor on Wednesday afternoon. When I arrived, I found out that if you make two visits in one day, the second one is free (they NEVER should have told me that tidbit of information). We received the same diagnosis, so we returned home. Much of Wednesday night was spent administering Pedialyte to Zed via an oral syringe.

Finally at 3:30 AM this morning, Zed turned a corner, which was a good thing because Ella left for NYC this morning so both Zed and I would've ended up in the hospital today had the illness continued (dehydration for him, nerves for me). He hasn't vomited since and, shortly before bedtime tonight, started showing signs of his usual self.

In the past few days I've watched my son's Buddha belly become lean (just in time for the swimsuit season!). I've watched him morph from an energetic, lively little lad to a lethargic slug. I've never seen him or Zoey this sick before and I hope I never do again.

Five Things You Should Be Doing Instead Of Reading Another Word Of My Drivel

Seriously. Leave now.

1. ENTER THIS: Dave at Blogography is celebrating his site's fifth anniversary by giving away prizes to his readers. So far this week, he's put up t-shirts, playing cards, hats, pins, and prints for people to win. I was one of the four grand prize winners last year, so I can vouch for the quality and overall coolness of the stuff he's giving away. There's still time to enter all his giveaways, so what are you waiting for?
    
   
2. LISTEN TO THIS: The new Weezer song rocks!
    
   
3. LISTEN TO THIS: The new Crue song rocks too!
    
   
4. READ THIS: Neil takes a look at the class distinctions in the Democratic primary race.
    
   
5. READ THIS: MommyBlogsToronto has a spiffy new design and a new name: Better Than A Playdate.

Song of the day: Mountain Trip To Japan, 1959 by Trachtenburg Family Slideshow Players

Earth Day 2008

My family celebrated Earth Day by going green.

Green around the gills, that is.

Since Saturday morning, we've all been playing the role of Mr. Creosote from Python's The Meaning Of Life. Fun stuff.

I'll be back tomorrow night with a real post. Until then, I've got a question for you guys: at what age do kids learn to control their vomiting and not just spew all over the place? When do they learn the toilet is much more acceptable than the bed? Or is my daughter just a late bloomer?

Because I'm really sick of washing sheets.

Song of the day: What Are We Gonna Do? by Dramarama

Things I Learned While Spending Eight Hours In The Emergency Room On A Saturday Night

• Hospitals are THE place to be on Saturday nights.
  There were about a million people in the emergency room. I've never been to a club or a bar on a weekend that's been that crowded.
• You're better off if you break something.
  My mother was suffering from severe dehydration and it took us three hours until we were back in a room. Meanwhile, I watched person after person hobble in with a foot in the air and get called back within an hour. It got so bad that I said to my Mom, "Can you fall down and break something so we can move up the food chain?" She laughed, but failed to comply.
• If you can't find a place to sit in the emergency room, wear a surgical mask.
  There was a lady who I'm assuming had the flu or SARS or something and was asked to wear a mask. I saw her looking for a place to sit down and every time someone noticed her, that person spread his stuff out a little wider. Once she finally found a place to sit, every person near her got up and stood somewhere else.
• There are entirely too many people in the emergency room wearing handcuffs.
  One person wearing handcuffs in the emergency room is entirely too many. I counted four times that amount.
• Having a blood alcohol level of .23 several hours after you've been arrested is damn impressive.
  I just hope that lady felt worse than I did on Easter morn.
• Hospitals could charge movie-concession prices (or more) in their vending machines and no one would bat an eye.
  Their stuff was already overpriced but that didn't stop anyone. Hell, I made several trips during the eight hours we were there. They could've easily charged much more.
• There are secret rooms in the hospital that no one knows about.
  The hospital and its entire parking lot is smoke-free. But that didn't stop one handcuffed man from getting to smoke somewhere on the hospital's grounds.
• If you're belligerent, you can get anything you desire.
  See above. The man simply refused to do anything until he got a cigarette. I have no idea where they went, but he was back far too soon to have been driven off the property.
• I am old.
  I didn't get home until 3:00 AM and felt the effects all day long (I don't have a problem staying up that late, it's staying out that late that kills me). Time to start filling out the application for the AARP card.
• Minivans are the new RVs.
  Because I am old, I had to stop halfway on my thirty-mile drive home at a rest area to walk around and wake myself up. I counted six minivans in the parking lot. I'm assuming the minivans contained sleeping families because the men's room was deserted (of course, they could've been filled with women who were partying in the women's room) and the only people that drive minivans are parents and Chili Palmer. But seriously, there's no way in hell I would let my family sleep in a car in the rest area parking lot. Am I alone here?

Song of the day: When Did Your Heart Go Missing? by Rooney

Little Bastards

I've been wondering why the kids have been sick for so long. Zed had pneumonia and RSV, and followed that with a double ear infection. Not to be outdone, Zoey tested positive for flu on Thursday. A little too much for one family, no?

I now know what they were trying to do: they were trying to get me sick. Mission accomplished! I am now the proud owner of a cough, a fever, aches, and all that fun stuff. Kids, if I had known you wanted to make me sick, I would've faked a few sniffles last week.

This was already going to be a rough and emotional week for us. I didn't need the flu on top of everything else.

Enough self-pity! Let's hear the song of the day!

Song of the day

Greg's back again today. Hope you enjoy his selection!

As I moved away from the suburbs of DC to go to college in Baltimore and then onto Los Angeles shortly after graduation, it began to occur to me that I should consider myself lucky to have seen many of the bands from DC's legendary punk scene. At the time, I just assumed every town had a thriving local music scene. But as I traveled, I met more and more people who grew up in the absence of a music scene and only got to see pictures of their favorite bands in zines. My love for music eventually led me to writing about it and as my budding music critic career took off, so did the careers of a lot of bands I had been exposed to in my teens. I started to freelance more and more and suddenly I had my name on the promo list of records labels. In the early 90s, Touch & Go's roster kicked so major ass. One day, a Pegboy promo came in the mail. I had heard of the band and probably saw the pre-Pegboy Naked Raygun at some point, but I had never heard Pegboy. Once again, what I saw with this band was the same as I saw with G.I. and Marginal Man: a bunch of everyday Joes up onstage dishing out their emotional, melodic punk rock. I lived on a steady diet of Pegboy in the early 90s. They always – and still do – struck a chord with me.

Song of the day: Superstar by Pegboy

Maybe Posting Every Day Isn't Such A Good Idea

Future generations will speak of the Blizzard Of '08 in hushed tones. While some will note the sheer magnitude of the storm (almost T-H-R-E-E inches!), many will remember that the storm came unannounced, leaving us little time to prepare.

Because people weren't privy to the usual round-the-clock reporting of potential snowfall amounts by local meteorologists, many citizens found themselves without their emergency stockpiles of beer, bread, and milk. Some motorists found themselves stranded with fear on wet roadways, needing to be airlifted to safety.

But we made it. We're a little worse for wear, but we're still here.

Next Week, We're Expecting The Plague

In the past eight days, we have had the following illnesses in our house: pneumonia, RSV, the flu, and a double ear infection.

Thanks

I'd like to personally thank everyone who commented on my Valentine's Day post. You should have already received a personal reply (if you left an email address), but I just wanted to thank you guys again.

Free Music, Anyone?

For anyone that digs Butch Walker, you can download a free 24-song live set from his site. But hurry! The offer ends Wednesday. After that, you have to pay.

Song of the day: Head On by The Jesus And Mary Chain

Guess The Illnesses!

I am turning 38 on Sunday. We had the grandparents lined up and were all set to go out and celebrate my birthday, our anniversary, and Valentine's Day in one big day-long blowout.

Ok. Who am I kidding? We were going out to celebrate our anniversary, Valentine's Day, and my birthday (rearranged in order of importance). But that's been put off for another week.

Zed has been sick since Wednesday (which is why I didn't blog the UNC/Duke game; apologies to those who came by looking for it). Rather than telling you what he's suffering from, I thought I'd let you guys guess based on the medications he's taking.

Yeah, this is in bad taste. Forgive me. I'm punchy. Because other than a trip to the store yesterday for medicine, juice, and some comfort food, he and I have been spending our days cooped up in the house and are more than a little stir crazy. This is all you get today.

Here's what he's been taking for the past few days:

• Tylenol, as needed (i.e. frequently)
• Motrin, as needed (i.e. frequently)
• Cefdinir, once daily
• Albuterol, 3x daily
  

So there you have it. Which two illnesses has he been diagnosed with?

Hope everyone has a great weekend.

Update #1: Ok. Angela chimed in first with ear infection. While he was diagnosed with this last week, it's not one of the two illnesses he's currently battling (his ears are fine now). He is just finishing out the 10-day supply of the Cefdinir.

Weirdgirl was the first to correctly name pneumonia as one of his two illnesses. So who can figure out the other one? Here's a big hint: it's something that can lead to pneumonia.

Update #2: It's not bronchitis or bronchiolitis, so you guys can stop guessing those.

Update #3: Red Pen Mama narrowly edged out Melody for the second illness: RSV.

So Weirdgirl and Red Pen Mama, if you're reading this, you win the grand prize: you get to watch our kids while Ella and I go out and celebrate on Sunday! Deal?

Song of the day: Goodbye To You by Scandal

Things I Learned This Weekend

• Hanging around in a hospital for hours still sucks.
• The Emergency waiting room is a very scary place. I shudder to think of all the bodily fluids I saw that day. And how many of the germs, viruses, and other filthy critters are currently crawling around my body, planning their attack.
• Freebasing Purell is not a good idea.
  
• It is much more fun watching the Cowboys/Packers game in a crowded sports bar (even if a few fights break out (but if you're not involved, that only adds to the fun (drunk boxing is tres cool))) than watching the Panthers/49ers in a hospital waiting room (even if the Panthers finally won at home for the first time in over a year).
• You can buy flowers from a hospital vending machine.
• You cannot buy beer from a hospital vending machine. This needs to change.
• My grandmother is a tough old broad. She broke her hip Saturday night, had a pin inserted on Sunday, and is doing quite well today.
  

Song of the day: Father Christmas by The Kinks

Snowed In

Thanksgiving should be a time for a family to come together and enjoy one other.

We're at each other's throat.

We're all sick of being sick. Sick of looking at one another. Sick of being cooped up in this damn house. Other than picking up a pizza on Friday night and two trips to Target, I haven't been out of the house since Wednesday.

It's like we've been snowed in, only there's no snow to be found.

Not content with the fevers, chills, sneezing, and runny noses we have been experiencing, Zoey decided to add a new twist last night: she started getting little bumps on her body. We called the nurse's line because we were afraid it might be chicken pox. By the time the nurse had called back, some of the bumps were gone. The nurse told us it was probably hives. Neither Ella nor I had ever had hives, so we weren't familiar with them. The nurse told us to give her Benadryl to soothe the itching. But she wasn't itching.

Yet.

Around 2:00 AM, she woke up howling and clawing at herself like a feral cat. We gave her Bendadryl, put her in bed with us (because who wouldn't like to sleep with a thrashing five-year-old?), and waited out the storm. Within an hour, she was finally asleep again.

Zoey's had a few breakouts today, but apparently they only itch when she's asleep. Makes no sense. But when Ella got the kids out of the bathtub tonight, she noticed a few bumps on Zed. Looks like we're in for another long night.

But I'll tell you this: one of those kids is going to school tomorrow. I don't care which one. We'll flip a damn coin if it comes to it.

GHS: 4

Song of the day: Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by U2

Home For The Holidays

I have been sick since Tuesday. Zoey followed my cue on Wednesday morning. Zed woke up with a fever on Thanksgiving morn and by nightfall, Ella was also sick.

We're all miserable and have cabin fever. We're cranky.

But two plusses: we didn't have to hit the road this Thanksgiving and no one's out braving the Black Friday madness. So we've got that going for us, if nothing else.

Now if you'll excuse me, we're off to play either the 6,903rd game of Disney Bingo or the 8,135th game of Hungry Hungry Hippos our house has seen in the past forty-eight hours.

Suddenly, the Black Friday crowds don't seem so bad.

P.S. If you've never seen the Holly Hunter flick Home For The Holidays, check it out. It's a hilarious Thanksgiving film about a dysfunctional family.

Song of the day: Spotlight On Christmas by Rufus Wainwright

Prick

Since today was the third day of Zoey's fever, I decided to take her to the pediatrician even though I knew what the outcome would be: "No other signs? It's viral. Give us a call in two days if she's not better. $25 copay, please."

Yet we still went.

Apparently every child in the county is sick because there were no empty seats in the waiting room. I have no idea what was ailing those kids, but I'll find out in seventy-two hours because Zed decided to lick the examination table before we left. Yum!

After the doctor examined Zoey, he gave me the diagnosis I had expected. And then he added, "We'll do a blood test to rule out anything else."

"Blood test?" I asked.

"Yes. A blood test."

Oh hell.

Unlike last month's splinter incident, I decided not to tell Zoey what she was in for. The nurse came in a few moments later.

"Zoey, I'm going to prick your finger. It won't hurt a bit," the nurse said.

"WHAT?" Zoey screamed as she turned to me.

"I'm going to prick your finger with th--"

And then the wailing started. Zoey started freaking out so the nurse had me hold her down with one arm while keeping her other arm straight. The nurse pricked her finger, grabbed the capillary tube, and explained to Zoey that she was drawing the blood with the tube.

After about fifteen seconds of less-than-optimal capillary action, the nurse said, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Could you ease up a bit? You're acting as a tourniquet." I then weakened the death grip I had on her arm and the blood sped up the tube. After we were done, Zoey was allowed to choose a plastic trinket from the prize chest. All was well.

On the way home, Zoey asked me, "How did they get the blood out of my finger?"

"They pricked your finger with a tiny needle."

"They did? I didn't feel a thing."

I'm sure she didn't. But her screams were heard from a mile away.

GHS: 6

Song of the day: Blood Makes Noise by Suzanne Vega

Riddle Me This

Under normal conditions, Zoey loves to curl up on the couch and watch television. "I want to watch Sesame Street!" she'll tell me several times a day. I'm pretty good -- I only give in about a third of the time.

So why is it that today, when I actually want her to lie still on the couch and watch television because she's running a 102 degree fever, she's whining, "But I don't want to watch television! I want to play!"

You can't win.

GHS: 3

Song of the day: Trouble by Shampoo

The Memory Book For The Cynical Parent

I know some of you own those fancy memory books where you record milestones like your child's first tooth, first time he/she said, "Mama," first time they spent the night at Grandma's house, and so on.

Know what? That lovey-dovey crap ain't for me.

Besides, who wants the memories of their child's milestones interspersed with lame images of innocent victims children being eaten by flowers?

That is why I've created The Memory Book For The Cynical Parent. Feel free to print this out and staple it in the back of your current memory book.

**********

First biting incident: __________

First trip to the doctor to remove a foreign object from the nose: __________

First broken bone: __________

First "I hate you, Mom (or Dad)": __________

First "F" on report card: __________

First emergency parent-teacher conference: __________

First school suspension: __________

First fistfight: __________

First dirty magazine: __________

First cigarette: __________

First alcoholic beverage: __________

First illegal drug: __________

First premarital sex: __________

First drunken party with friends while parents are out of town: __________

First nontraditional hair dyeing (purple, green, orange, etc.): __________

First tattoo: __________

First nontraditional piercing: __________

First missed curfew: __________

First loser boyfriend or girlfriend: __________

First shoplifting arrest: __________

First night in jail: __________

First rehab stay: __________

**********

This post was inspired by the second item on the list. On Friday evening, Zoey jammed paper up her nose. Moron.

We tried to remove it with tweezers, but she was freaking out way too much and it was pretty far up in her nose. We took her to the doctor, where it took the two of us and a nurse to hold her down while the doctor removed the paper.

Hopefully, she learned a lesson.

I know I did: My daughter is a moron.

It's All Fun And Games Until Someone (Almost) Loses An Eye

Zoey turned four years old on Saturday. I know what you're thinking. Dude? Your daughter turned four on Saturday and you're just now writing about it? What kind of daddyblogger are you? I suck. I'll turn in my membership card and forget the secret handshake, okay?

Last year, we had a three-day celebration to mark the occasion. This year, we decided to go a little more low-key and do everything in one day. We went to Krispy Kreme for breakfast (shut up, it was her birthday!) and then came home so she could open her gifts.

Like last year, we had her birthday party at Pump It Up. We tried to bribe threaten encourage her to have it somewhere (ANYWHERE!) else, but everyone in her little clique has their birthday parties there, so she had to have her party there as well. Follower.

There were twenty-nine kids at her birthday party. I know. Just a tad excessive. But once you invite the preschool class, a few kids from the neighborhood, a few kids from the gymnastics class, relatives, children of our friends, and a few random siblings from the aforementioned groups, you suddenly have TWENTY-NINE kids.

Next year, in lieu of invitations, we're just placing an ad in the newspaper.

The party was going great until I noticed Beth crying in her mother's arms. I went over to investigate. "I CAN'T SEE! I CAN'T SEE!" she was screaming. She refused to open her eye. So I went to the other room and made an ice pack for her. I sat with Beth and her mother for about five minutes until we decided a trip to the emergency room might be in order.

I returned to the party and rode the slide with Zed until my father-in-law came running up to me. He had lost his cellular phone and assumed he had left it at the grocery store. He wanted me to walk around the store with him and call his phone number on my cellular phone in the hopes we would hear his phone ring. I had just spent the previous ten minutes pretending to be a doctor and he wanted me to leave my daughter's birthday party to help him find his cellular phone.

I gave him my cellular phone and wished him luck.

After they had jumped and pumped it up for ninety minutes, all the sweaty little creatures retired to the party room for cake. Beth returned to the party with ten minutes to spare. She had gauze wrapped around her head and eye. Apparently, someone had scratched her retina or cornea or some important part of her eye. But at least she came back for cake. What a trooper!

We have had five birthday parties for our children (four for Zoey, one for Zed). We've had two near-choking incidents and one scratched eye. That's a 60% failure rate. So I've decided that we're not having any more birthday parties for the kids. Either that or we just dress everyone in bubble wrap. There will be no eating, no playing, and no fun; just a bunch of bubble-wrapped kids sitting quietly.

And definitely no more Chuck E. Cheese's!

We took Zoey to Chuck E. Cheese's on Saturday night (donuts for breakfast and pizza for dinner; we suck). Chuck E. Cheese's is always crazy. But Saturday nights at Chuck E. Cheese's are a special kind of crazy. There were five official birthday parties (the ones where people actually reserve tables in front of the scary animatronic characters), three semi-official birthday parties (smaller parties with cake), and at least one semi-semi-official birthday party (us (no cake)).

You couldn't move in the place. There were unsupervised kids running wild everywhere! At one point, someone's baby crawled up to me. I calmly placed her in the Lost And Found box.

In all, I counted 824 kids running around the restaurant. And only twenty-seven parents. Is there some secret room in the back where the in-the-know parents hang out? They serve alcohol in that room, don't they?

God knows I could've used some.

GHS: 10

More Birthday Party Fun:
Zoeypalooza 2005 -- Day One
Zoeypalooza 2005 -- Day Two
Zoeypalooza 2005 -- Day Three
Of Princess Parties And Candle Fellatio
Because It's Not A Birthday Party Until You're Performing The Heimlich Maneuver

Bear With Me As I Attempt To Write Something That Doesn't Involve Music

Know Thy Enemy

Pretend you're me.

Ok. That probably doesn't sound very appealing to you, so pretend you're you in the following situation:

Your children are sick so you are hurrying to Target to have some prescriptions filled. You are driving through the shopping center when you come upon a group of eight people that just exited a nearby restaurant. They are standing in the middle of the road. Six of them look at you. None of them move. Do you

1. Wait patiently until they decide to move.
2. Honk your horn.
3. Run them over. Back up and finish the job if necessary.
   

While c might seem more fun, I think we can all agree the correct answer is b.

But wait! We're not done yet.

Seven of them move out of your way. One burly man glares at you and stands still for a few seconds. He finally moves just enough for you to drive your car past him. As you drive past, he hurls obscenities in your direction. Do you

1. Ignore him.
2. Smile and wave at him.
3. Give him the finger.
4. Speed away because the man is easily six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than you.

Trick question! The correct answer is e, blow him a kiss. Then you speed away as you notice he's stopped running after your car and has rushed back to his pickup to track you down.

Someday, someone will kill me. It's just a matter of when.

Unhealthy Competition

I have come to the conclusion that is better to have two sick children than one sick child and one healthy child. With one sick, you've got one that wants to be held constantly and the other one bouncing off the walls wanting attention. With two sick, you can all curl up on the couch and read a book or watch TV.

Unless they're both whining. That's no fun.

Unfortunately, my kids have decided to have a little competition during their current bout with a virus. Zed managed to get his fever up to 104.0° whereas all Zoey could muster was a 103.2° temperature. And then he further upped the ante by developing an allergic reaction (rash) to amoxicillin.

But there's always tomorrow, girl!

All Grandmothers Are Currently On Notice

Zoey and I were playing the other day. We were making a tent in the playroom. She said, "Let's have a sleepover. And eat lots of junk. And not brush our teeth. We'll have junk in our teeth!"

I have no idea where she got this from, but I have my suspicions (I'm looking at you, Grandmas). But I shouldn't worry. They're just practice teeth anyway.

More Than Just A Bit, Actually

I would like to thank Liz Copeland at Associated Content for mentioning my site in her roundup of daddy blogs. But the coolest part? She summed me up perfectly in six little words: "A bit shy, a bit off."

I think that should be my new slogan.

I Almost Made It Out Of Here Without Talking About Music

If you haven't entered my contest yet, please do so. You have until 9:00 PM on Thursday evening. Details are here.

So Hot, So Miserable, So Swollen

I'm done with you, Summer. Done! Can't we have a cool day every once in awhile? Is Al Gore right?

We're all very miserable. It's been so hot that our air conditioner hasn't been able to keep up with the heat (which is what happens when your air conditioner is rated for an area that is 400 square feet less than your home's square footage (and why did no one tell me this when I bought the damn house?)). When I put Zed to bed tonight at 9:00 PM, it was still 78.6 in his room (What? Doesn't everyone keep thermometers/humidity sensors in their children's bedrooms?). It was so hot, Zoey requested her Xmas CD when she went to bed. It's so hot, we can only play in the backyard during the very early morning and after dinner.

Strike that. We can only play in the backyard in the very early morning.

Apparently, Zed has a slight problem with mosquitoes.

Two weeks ago, we were outside on a humid night. The next morning, Zed awoke with mosquito bites all over his body. Mosquito welts would be a better term. The little guy had H--U--G--E red welts all over his body. We put cortisone on them and in a few days, they went away.

Last night, we went outside again. This morning, Zed woke up with the same red welts all over his body. This time, however, he had them on his face as well. By mid-morning, his face was so swollen that his right eye was half-closed. Poor little bastard looked like Rocky Dennis.

So I took him to the doctor and he prescribed an oral steroid. I asked the doctor what I should do to prevent this. "Keep him inside during the early evening hours." As I didn't want to be under house arrest for the rest of the summer, I asked if he could recommend a repellent (we had slathered him head-to-toe in bug cream before we took him outside (we're not total idiots)). "Just keep trying different things until you find something that works."

So just keep torturing the poor lad until something finally sticks? Sound advice, Doc!

Actually, I shouldn't be surprised his skin is so sensitive to mosquito bites. His skin is sensitive to EVERYTHING. We have to use special wipes, diapers, and detergent or he'll break out in a rash. Zoey's the same way. They both inherited their mother's whiter than (white, snow, rice, fill in your own cliché) skin. Since I'm more dark-complexioned (which isn't saying much; Casper is darker than Ella), I have no problem with the sun, bugs, or scented detergents (the horror!). I just have to make sure the other members of my family are not exposed to any of these dangerous items.

It's like I have my own little family of vampires or something. And I guess that makes me one of the Hounds of Hell.

See? It's so damn hot my brain is melting.

Monday Bloody Monday

I've been a parent for almost four years now. In that time, I feel I have met every challenge presented to me. True, I may have felt inept at times, but at least I didn't panic. At least I wasn't useless.

Never have I felt that I failed one of my kids.

Until today.

I was in the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dishwasher after lunch, when I heard Zoey cry shriek wail... I really have no way of accurately describing it. It was a sound I had never heard her make. And a sound I hope I never hear again.

I rushed into the living room and found her covered with blood.

Her face, forehead, and right arm had blood all over it. Blood was on her dress. Blood was on the floor. She was frozen, standing in the middle of the living room, screaming.

I was frozen as well. I just stood there, trying to grasp what was happening, what had happened, and what to do. I have seen plenty of blood in my life; I've had lots of broken bones and my share of stitches. But I had never seen that much blood on my daughter.

I just stood there.

Finally, I pulled my head out of my ass and rushed over to comfort her. I took her to the kitchen and washed most of the blood off her body. I was then able to tell that the blood was coming from her forehead. In between her sobs, I was able to discover that she had hit her head on the corner of our entertainment center.

I asked her if she needed to go to the doctor. Of course, she screamed, "NO!" So I took her back to the living room and put her on the couch. I put a washcloth to her forehead. She had a tiny hole in her forehead which, in my mind, looked like a gaping wound that left me wondering how her brain was still inside her skull.

The bleeding had stopped, but I still phoned Ella. "COME HOME NOW!" I screamed. "ZOEY'S HURT!" Ella came home and calmed me Zoey down. "She's ok," Ella told me. "She doesn't even need stitches." I didn't believe her; I had seen all the blood that had come out of Zoey's head. Blood like that requires stitches!

I spent the rest of the afternoon s-t-a-r-i-n-g at poor Zoey. She was fine. She was dancing and playing as usual. But all I could see was her covered in blood.

I watched for signs of dizziness. I looked at the wound again and again, trying to determine if it needed stitches, praying that it didn't reopen.

Finally, after about two hours (actually, it was only ten minutes), I drove to my mom's office. She was once a nurse and assured me that Zoey did not need stitches.

So we came back home. Zed played in my office while Zoey and I spent most of the afternoon in front of the computer, playing games, surfing, and stalking WebMd.

Tonight, she's got a walnut-sized welt in the middle of her forehead. But she'll be okay. As long as her father never has to make a quick decision that may decide her fate.

GHS: 10

And for the two of you that care, I will resume my Top 100 Albums Of All Time tomorrow evening. I promise.

Because It's Not A Birthday Party Until You're Performing The Heimlich Maneuver

Monday is Zed's first birthday. We celebrated today.

This morning, Zoey and I went to the party store (no, Dutch, not your kind of party store) to buy some balloons for Zed's party (you'll all be pleased to know that after the party, we set the balloons free in a wildlife preserve). I bought one giant Blue's Clues head balloon (the boy doesn't actually like Blue's Clues; he loves Hi-5 and Jack's Big Music Show, but since they don't make balloons or favors for either show, we opted for a Blue's Clues theme), one blue "Baby's First Birthday" balloon, one blue "1" balloon, two royal blue balloons, two light blue balloons, and one pink "It's A Girl!" balloon.

No, we're not pregnant.

I took the balloons to the register. The attendant held up the pink balloon and gave me a puzzled look. "She picked it out. It's for her," I said, pointing to Zoey. "We have free balloons if she would like one of those." I looked at the box of free balloons. "Yeah, but none of those are pink. She has to have pink. I'll take the 'It's A Girl!' balloon, please."

At 2:00 PM, everyone began showing up. My mother, mother-in-law, father-in-law, and grandmother-in-law. Everyone, that is, except the Nap Nazis.

I'm a B-I-G fan of routine when it comes to children. But I can be quite flexible when the need arises. Not my brother and his wife. Nothing gets in the way of their child's naps. House on fire? Sorry, kid's napping. Their child is put in her crib at 1:00 PM and is removed from her crib at 2:00 PM. Everyone and everything else be damned!

They informed me ahead of time they would be a little late. They called at 2:30 PM to let me know they were on their way (they still had a thirty minute drive ahead of them). It took every ounce of restraint I had not to tell them, "Don't worry. We'll celebrate birthdays, Christmases, and everything else when your child outgrows naps!"

When I got off the phone, I announced to the room, "Screw them. Let's have cake."

Ella had made Zed a Blue's Clues cake in the shape of Blue's head without a mold. Everyone was quite impressed. We put Zed in his highchair, lit the candle, sang Happy Birthday, and let him stare at the cake.

And stare.

And stare.

Finally, he poked his finger into the cake. He pulled it out and, after examining his finger v-e-r-y closely, he realized it neither burned him, bit him, nor killed him, so he stuck his whole hand into the cake. He then became really brave and stuck his other hand into the cake. He dug around in the cake for a few moments but never once tried to eat any of it. Not that I was surprised. This is a kid who tries to lick power outlets yet will not eat solid food.

So we started with the icing. Ella dipped her finger into the cake and put it to Zed's mouth. He made a face like we were feeding him our world-famous rat-feces flavored turkey drumsticks. Unfazed, Ella tried again. This time, Zed licked his lips. Success!

So we foolishly decided to let Zoey fed him some icing (not that we had any say in the matter). He opened his mouth when her finger neared, ready to taste the sweet goodness. Zoey dipped her finger in the cake again and pulled out a pea-sized helping of icing. "That's too big of a bite!" I yelled. But I was too late. It was already in his mouth.

And he gagged.

And gagged again.

And then threw up all over the place.

We took Zoey to Chuck E. Cheese's for her first birthday. She was halfway through her pizza when she started gagging. I had to turn her over on my knee and hit her back until she finally stopped choking.

Family traditions are nice.

While Ella was cleaning Zed's hands and changing his clothes, he started laughing hysterically. If you spoke to him, he would giggle. If you looked at him, he would giggle. It was like he was stoned.

I wish sugar had that effect on me.

I then brought Zed's presents into the living room. The Nap Nazis arrived at this time, visually peeved we had not waited for them. The nerve!

Zoey helped Zed open his presents. By helped, I mean Zoey opened Zed's presents. Not that he cared. He beat on one of the boxes for a few minutes and then crawled off to run his fingers across the vent.

I don't know why we spend money on these kids. Zoey would be happy with a ball of string and Zed is fine playing with our vents all day long.

FINAL THOUGHT

Why do we spend so much money on automobiles and car seats with high safety ratings, helmets, and pads for every joint on their body, yet have no problem placing a flaming piece of pastry mere inches from our children's faces?

GHS: 8

Bite Me

I know. I've been very needy lately (Vote for me! Leave a comment!). You people come here to be entertained and I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain.

Yeah, I realize you don't come here to be entertained. You come here because I make you feel like you're a great parent (or at the very least, like you're doing a better job than I am). Or maybe, as one of you put it, I make you feel sane. I would like to think that means my writing has a soothing effect on your psyche. But I know it really means that next to me, the guy that stands on the corner in the aluminum foil hat arguing with the clouds is the poster child for equilibrium.

Anyway, for being so patient with me while I've had my head up my own ass, I've decided to reward you with the tale of one of my most embarrassing moments as a father.

Last March, three weeks after Zed was born, I went to pick up Zoey from preschool. She had been having a rough time adjusting to sharing Ella and I with her new baby brother.

I knew something was amiss when Zoey was the last child to be brought out of the building. My heart sank a little more when Zoey was holding her teacher's hand when she came out (instead of the usual running at full speed while yelling, "Daddy!"). And then her teacher said the six words no parent wants to hear: "Tell Daddy what you did today." Zoey didn't say a word. She didn't need to say a word. I could tell by the expression on her face she had done something wrong.

"Zoey bit Alan today."

I was crushed. This was the first time I had ever heard another person utter a negative word about Zoey. I wanted to melt like The Wicked Witch Of The West those dudes at the end of Raiders Of The Lost Ark (manlier reference).

But you want to know the crazy part? The teachers began comforting me. I guess they could see I was upset. Must have been the uncontrollable sobbing.

"It's something a lot of children go through."

"It's just a stage."

"I'm sure it's only because she has a new brother."

"I'm sure it won't happen again."

"I wouldn't worry about it."

But how could I not worry about it? My daughter had bitten someone! I took Zoey home that day and explained to her that no matter how mad we get, no matter how frustrated we feel, we DO NOT HIT OR BITE ANOTHER PERSON. It was a Friday, so I had all weekend to drill this point home. The poor girl probably hated me by Monday morning.

When Monday rolled around, I was dreading preschool. I dropped her off, came home, and sat by the phone all morning. Every time the phone rang, I just knew it was her preschool calling to inform me she had bitten the entire class, both her teachers, and the preschool director. I wondered if one could buy mini Hannibal Lecter masks. I was a wreck.

And then it was time to pick her up. Since all the mothers and I had to wait outside under an awning while the children were released one by one, I knew there was no chance I would avoid Alan's mother. I thought about driving around the school until I saw her leave. I contemplated shaving my head and donning sunglasses in the hopes no one would recognize me. I actually considered calling the school to tell them I needed to pick her up early, but knew this wouldn't work because I would not be able to do this every day. So I decided to do the right thing.

I stood under a corner of the awning, staring at my feet the entire time.

But nothing happened. Zoey was a good girl that day. And the day after. And the day after. And so on.

Eventually, I began talking to the moms again. Even Alan's mom. We are good friends to this day (although neither one of us have ever mentioned the biting incident).

And Zoey has never bitten anyone else (knock wood).

GHS: 10 (the max)

Chrismupchuckkah

FRIDAY 2:05 AM

Zed awoke for his early morning snack. Yes, he still wakes in the middle of the night to feed. Don't. Judge. Us.

But instead of eating, he decided to vomit instead.

And vomit.

And vomit.

And vomit. Four times in a half-hour period. Fun stuff!

Concerned, we called the twenty-four hour nurse line through our pediatrician's office. We knew he just had a stomach virus; we were just unsure if we should feed him or just give him water. The nurse went through the usual line of questioning and then asked Ella if Zed had fallen on his head recently. Um, yeah. About ten times a day or so. He sits on the floor, gets excited, and gravity takes over. His head's "like an orange on a toothpick," for God's sake. So when Ella answered truthfully, they became concerned that he had a concussion.

I knew he wasn't concussed; he was alert, playing, and "talking" to us. But that didn't seem to matter to the nurse. She told us the doctor at the hospital would call us shortly. Normally, it takes about ninety minutes to hear from a doctor.

Our family doctor called us ten minutes after we hung up with the nurse. He was concerned at first, but after I assured him he was very alert and was moving around fine, he diagnosed it as one of the many stomach bugs that were going around.

Besides, could you have seen us going to the emergency room with a baby with a possible concussion and a three-year-old with a black eye? Paging Social Services! Paging Social Services! Ella and I would've spent Christmas in jail.

FRIDAY 10:00 AM

Since Zed had not vomited in the past eight hours (it had now evolved (devolved?) into diarrhea), I left Ella and the kids at home and set out bravely to do our last minute shopping. I still had to buy presents for Ella, my uncle, and a few presents for Zed.

Did I see you at Toys "'R" Us on Friday? No? That's hard to believe because I thought EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE FREAKING WORLD WAS THERE. They had five Drop & Roar Dinosaurs left. Unfortunately, all five boxes looked like they had been thrown in the cage with that gorilla that used to test Samsonite luggage. I picked the least mangled box, a toy phone, and headed to the checkout area.

There was one big line of people with shopping carts on each side of the store. Each line then channeled into several register lines as they moved closer. However, people without carts were able to freely move into the inside lanes without having to wait with the cart people. This caused a lot of animosity from the cart people towards the cartless people. At one point, a cart lady who had finally had enough grabbed a gift card off the rack, and slashed the throat of a cartless gentlemen who had just jumped in front of twenty people.

Ok. That didn't really happen. But a guy can dream. But I did see a lady jump out of her car and start screaming at someone behind her as I was leaving the parking lot. Christmas spirit, indeed.

I then went to Target & Michael's to pick up some gift cards. And judging by the tumbleweeds blowing around inside Michael's, no one is getting crafty crap for Christmas.

Anyway...

I had two more missions left. I had to buy Ella something at the mall. I also had to buy my uncle some t-shirts with cartoon characters on them. My uncle is mentally handicapped, and every year he likes to receive t-shirts with various Looney Tunes characters on them. Well, I went to several stores and two different malls. Apparently, you can't buy a t-shirt that doesn't feature something regarding weed, alcohol, sex, or Napoleon Dynamite. It was a funny movie, but does anyone want to walk around in a t-shirt with his funny looking mug, emblazoned with the phrase "Flippin' Sweet?" Judging by the mounds of inventory that was still available, the answer is no.

I was able to find him a few t-shirts at the Disney Store. I returned home around 9:50 PM.

SATURDAY 5:30 AM

Zed awoke for his early morning feeding (again, don't judge!). I decided to celebrate the occasion by vomiting. I rested on the couch all day, moaning like a little baby (hey, I'm a guy!), between my frequent trips to the bathroom.

SUNDAY 4:35 AM

Not to be outdone, Ella decided to vomit.

SUNDAY 7:30 AM

Zoey woke the house up. IT'S CHRISTMAS! EVERYONE OUT OF BED!

We dragged our sorry butts downstairs. Ella rested on the couch, trying to garner some Christmas enthusiasm for the kids. I handed Zoey the presents, one by one. She was the only healthy one, so she tore into them with enough vigor for all of us. She had gotten so much Disney Princess and Barbie stuff it looked like someone had puked cotton candy (I know, bad analogy) all over the floor. I (tried to) play all day with the kids while Ella rested. I was miserable, Ella was miserable, and Zed was miserable. But Zoey was having the time of her life!

THE SAPPY ADDENDUM

Despite Zed, Ella, and I being sick this Christmas, we really did have a great Christmas. Normally, we open gifts at our house Christmas morning. Then we drive thirty miles to my Mom's house at 11:00 AM to have lunch and open presents. Then we drive two hours to Ella's parents' house for dinner and more presents. This year we couldn't do all that hectic crazy stuff because we were sick. We all got to stay in one place and celebrate Christmas all day together. It was nice. Even if we all did have diarrhea.

THE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

On Christmas Eve, I received the best Christmas present ever. Ella was wrapping presents and I was sprawled out on the recliner, watching television. Zed was playing on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him crawl! "Ella!" I screamed, "Zed crawled!" We stared at him for a few more minutes. Finally, he got back down on all fours and crawled a few feet. Ella and I both started clapping and screaming for him.

He just looked at us like we were crazy.

GHS: 0

Because It's Never Really Christmas Until Someone Gets A Black Eye

Guess what? We finally decorated our tree tonight!

We. Are. So. Slack.

We had just finished dinner when Ella turned to me.

Ella: Do you want to put the decorations on the tree?
Me: Do we have to?
Ella: Yes.
Me: Then why did you ask me?
Ella: Maybe I wasn't really asking.
Me: I don't want to. Christmas is almost over. We'll just be taking it down again in a few days. Who am I kidding? We all know it'll be up until at least Groundhog Day.
Ella: Too bad.
Me: I'm tired. I don't want to.
Ella: Zoey wants to.

BOOM! BAM! POW! Can you believe she played the Parenting Guilt Card? Isn't that a move usually reserved for grandmothers?

So like a whipped dog good husband and father, I went to the garage and pulled out the boxes of decorations.

I opened the plastic storage box and pulled out the big plastic mistletoe. I hung it up and explained to Zoey that when two people walk under the mistletoe at the same time, tradition dictates that they must kiss. So Zoey and I walked under the mistletoe a few times and kissed. Then she would have Ella and I walk under the mistletoe and kiss. And then it was Zoey and Ella's turn.

You get the whole nauseating picture.

At what age do kids get tired of kisses from their parents? 13? 10? 8? 5? I know it'll happen soon enough, so I try to sneak as many as I can. Truth be told, as independent as Zoey is, I can't believe she hasn't already begun pushing us away.

I began unpacking the ornaments. Zoey immediately began oohing and aahing. See, we have mostly cartoon ornaments. We have characters from Rocky & Bullwinkle, The Simpsons, The Nightmare Before Christmas, various Dr. Seuss stories, Bloom County, Peanuts, and a host of other cartoon-related ornaments. Sadly, all of these were bought before we had children. I could almost hear Zoey thinking, "Wow. We're decorating the tree with toys!" Something tells me we earned major Kiddie Cool Points tonight.

So I would hand Zoey an ornament and she would place it on the tree (with a little help from Ella). We now have a beautifully decorated tree — from three feet down.

But I seriously doubt Ella's inner Martha Stewart will allow the tree to remain that way.

As we were clearing the aftermath, Zoey was jumping on the couch, one of her favorite pastimes. She slipped and her hands landed on the corner of the plastic lid of the ornament box, causing it to flip up and catch her right underneath her eye. The area underneath her eye turned purple and started swelling immediately. And then the tears came.

But since she's a tough cookie, I asked her if she wanted to play some soccer and she immediately stopped crying, hopped off the couch, and came over and started kicking the ball with me.

I did learn one very valuable lesson tonight. After we played soccer for a few minutes, I foolishly decided to take her to the bathroom and show her the damage she had caused. One look in the mirror and she began crying hysterically, claiming "IT HURTS! IT HURTS! IT HURTS!"

I guess there's some truth to the saying "out of sight, out of mind."

GHS: 2 (just because I hate seeing my girl in pain)