Monday, June 25, 2007

false advertising

A little background in case you have never seen me. I am of Danish/German decent, very blonde, and about the whitest girl you have seen.

So, I bought this spray-on self-tanner. The commercial shows a blonde, seemingly like me, spraying this bronze-contents-under-pressure freely all over her body with an end result being a glorious, freakishly-even tan. Being just as much of a consumer as the next sucker, I fall prey to the deception.

flash forward to the next morning

ACK! I have streaks and blotches and, despite all the advance of modern chemistry, a subtle orangish-glow over my once porcelain legs. The can says this is not even possible!

I guess I will have to accept that I will always be pasty. I will be the one wearing pants in the 90 degree heat until my orange glowing streaks disappear.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

no, she is not always this happy

There's nothing like coming home from work to find your very sick baby in need of a trip to the ER.

Let me preface this by saying that we, as a family, do whatever we can to avoid medical intervention entirely. Don't get me wrong, I'm not some radical who thinks modern medicine is a sham or anything. We just try to avoid doctors, hospitals, etc. because they usually mean someone is sick and we don't like to be sick so we Avoid Being Sick.

Well, all of us except for Kiki. She had a bout of RSV as a wee thing and it has been kicking her tushy ever since. The Muss or Boo get the sniffles, Kiki gets a full-blown respiratory infection that requires antibiotics, steroids and breathing treatments. The Muss or Boo get a "head-cold" and Kiki, the lucky girl, gets pneumonia. It is excrutiating to watch your sweet babe be that ill, but any parent knows this.

So, back to coming home from work yesterday and the status of Kiki. Upon arrival at home , J. informs me that Kiki has gone downhill throughout the day and is having some serious difficulty in the breathing department. Obviously, not breathing well is an issue, especially for a 21-month old tot. I frantically uncover our doctor's cell phone number. Yes, we actually have a doctor who trusts us enough to give us his personal cell number, probably because he knows we are among the least likely of his patients to actually use it. He tells me what I knew he would, a trip to the ER is in order.

Not much of interest from the actual hospital visit, it is a lovely Children's Hospital just down the street from our home. Very convenient, shiny, sparkley and completely renovated. Another x-ray of her teeny lungs (which always makes me shudder), another mega-dose of steroids and another super-charged breathing treatment and we were on our way. No pneumonia this time, at least.

Complete oversight. I totally forgot to mention that SHE WAILED AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS FOR THE FIRST 45 MINUTES WE WERE THERE. No shots nor any pokey devices of any type even came near her unblemished baby skin. You would have thought that they were trying to physically remove her lungs from her body to examine them instead of gently touching her back with a thoughtfully-warmed stethoscope. I was finally able to soothe her by the 37th round of singing of her favorite song. Thank goodness there wasn't just a curtain between us and the rest of the ER because I don't know which was worse, her crying or my singing. Ok, I know my singing was way worse.

I know, I know, she is a baby and does not understand what is going on, but you should see this hospital. It is the most kid-friendly-non-threatening hospital one can imagine. If she were a "fussy" baby or had been "colicky" or was maybe "high strung" or "tense" in anyway normally, then, then I would not have been surprised at her reaction. But, no, she has been the easiest (yet, craftiest) baby of the bunch. I cannot even recall how many times I have been asked "is she always this happy?" and "does she ever cry?"

Let me tell you, folks, yes, yes she does. If you would ever like to hear what she sounds like at full-tilt, just take her to your local Children's Hospital.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

on the way to buy new shoes

A little conversation between myself and Boo:

after being in the car for all of 2 blocks

Boo: How much longer until we get there?

Me: Just a couple of blocks.

Boo: Are you taking a short-cut?

Me: No, honey, no short-cut.

Boo: *sighing impatiently* Must be the long-cut then.

Mind you, the store we were going to was only a total of 7 blocks from our house. I'm sure the 500 mile road-trip we are taking at the end of the month will just fly by.