Thursday, April 28, 2011

Code B at the Walmart

I've written before about how I detest dragging my sweet little terrorists to Walmart before; however, yesterday something happened that really made me turn from a nice Christian woman to a Tasmanian devil in PMS. My little lovelies have been suffering from a virus that's like a three for one deal... pink eye, ear infection, and flu-like symptoms all rolled up into one big ball o' fun, so at their checkup yesterday at Chez Doctor, they prescribed an antibiotic for Hannah, who, despite the fact that they were all deaf from infections, was the only one who required aggressive treatment. So off we trecked to the local Walmart at 10:30, and when they told me it would be a 45 minute wait, I cringed at the thought of coming back for another visit there, but decided it would be better than wandering around the place trying to contain my voice to low tones whilst threatening three little howler monkeys (who, mind you are deaf, and therefore exponentially louder than usual) in the cart to "Stop touching each other! We do NOT spit at people, especially family! Do NOT lick the shopping cart handle! No we are not going to buy pork rinds simply because we don't have any! Puhleeeeeze stop 'Not touching!' your sister!" etc. etc. So we left for lunch and naps to return later.

At 3:30 we ventured back, with the promise to my deafened little dears that if they behave I would let them have extra-fun playtime activities when they got home. I was almost chipper... we'd get the rx, go home, have some fun, and I'd get dinner on and all would be perfect and Suzy-homemaker-y and happy. Then the checkout lady looked me straight in the face and without a smidge of apology in her voice said, "oh, we're out of stock for that drug"...

Now, please understand, I have a reputation with my husband for being a major wuss. My dear Ryan can make sales associates pee their pants with a word of dissapointment from him, but I am the sort to back down from any and all confrontations... most of the time. However, when I heard the pharmacy lady say this, I turned from this:

to this:before you could say, "Oh Snap!"


At this point the checker stepped back and you could almost hear her signalling, "Code B at the checkout counter! Alert! Alert! We have a CODE B! Crazy -itch at the checkout counter!"

The manager appeared, and I explained my ploit: "I'm told you are out of stock for Augmentin. How is it I had to schlep three sick kids down to the Walmart pharmacy, which I'm pretty sure is one of Dante's CIRCLES OF HELL, not once but twice in one day, only to find out you couldn't pick up the phone and call me in the 6 hours you've had my prescription sitting out."

Her reply, "Um, are you part of our auto-text program, because we can tell you this info by text in the future if this ever happens again"

"Happens AGAIN!? Are you saying this is a normal occurance?! And yes, so you know, I am a part of that program, but even if I weren't, you have like a MILLION copies of my information on that little computer of yours and you're saying you can't call me at home instead of texting if there's a problem?! Did I mention I have THREE sick kids here in this cart, and that this has RUINED my evening. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to manage three small people on a good day, let alone manage to keep them from sucking up every rogue germ in this place while in the pharmacy section here?"

"Yes, maam. I know it must be hard, I have a kid myself so I know it's tough"...

At this point I had to restrain myself not to put my shoe up her nose. Please don't get me wrong, Mom's-of-one, but it is exponentially harder wrangling two or more people in a shopping cart, let alone the overly-loud, virus-crazed grumps I had yesterday.

"Maam, I'm going to call another Walmart and see if they have this in stock."... this was followed by 20 minutes of Walmart-hell-waiting while she whispered frenzily over the phone to someone else. "Maam, they have this Rx at another Walmart (which is a half hour away)... they'll have it ready for you in a half hour when you get there. Again, so sorry."

I might have cried at this point.

I loaded three sad, dissapointed little grumpies into the car for another trip in rush hour traffic, only to repeat the same routine of "Please, you can't all hold my hand in the parking lot at once, please stop wrestling your sister's hand, no we can't visit the bathroom just to see if they have awesome auto-flush toilets, please be good I'msorryIcan'tgetyouhomeintimetoplayyyyyyy!" a half hour after the origional version in another Walmart parking lot. At the front of the line, I'm told, "Oh, we told them (the other Walmart pharmacy people) we'd have to contact your doctor before we can begin filling this." I definitely cried at this point. Then I explained my situation and begged for help because I knew this was not THIS pharmacy's fault, but what I needed now was mercy, assistance, Augmentin, and a big fricken bottle of xanax for my nerves. My Rx was done after another 30 mins in the waiting area, whilst my children mopped up every germ in the place and the people in line scowled angrily at me for making their wait longer by insisting my stuff be pushed to the front of the que.

We left at 3:30, and arrived home to my parent's house, who were kind enough to prepare dinner, at 6. Needless to say I'm transferring my prescriptions elsewhere and having words with higher-ups today, but since this blog is here for me to vent occaisionally, please allow me to do so. And please feel free to vent along with me... I know we've all been there! It's just rare for me to turn from a confrontation-hating wimp to an angry she-wolverine who could have made Kim Jong Il or Kadhaffi piss themselves and retreat, but I guess all of us have a breaking point. Oh snap!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

At least I win at SOMETHING

Hannah, while sitting on her Daddy's lap this morning, wrinkled her nose and exclaimed, "Daddy, did you TOOT?" "Nope" "Are you sure, it smells like you tooted!" "Nope, maybe it was Mommy" "No Daddy! This one REALLY smells. Mommy's don't smell that BAD!... it smells like a Daddy toot." Well, I can't cook as well, and I can't throw them for miles into the air, but at least I win at something in our house :)

Birthday girls!

Happy 5th birthday to my precious little girls! We've had a wonderful weekend of celebrating, especially during their big birthday party surrounded by some of our closest friends (families from our Mom's for Christ playgroup). This weekend we were reminded how many wonderful, supportive, loving friends and family we have, and how thankful we are for these two beautiful girls. They light up our lives and bless us in so many ways. I am so overjoyed when I think about how these two little beauties shine forth each day, and all the silliness and fun they bring into my days. They seem to bounce thru each day, giggling and goofing off all the while. Sarah is still my happy-go-lucky, t.v. addicted, bull-in-a-china shop kid, with a gorgeous, oft-seen smile and a love for building/constructing things and playing outdoors, while Hannah brings us her sweet & silly, rolly poly, attitude-subject-to-change-at-a-moments-notice personality with a love of all things craftyand fashionable and a generous side of cuddliness. I'm amazed at what wonderful little people they're growing up to become, and can't wait to spend the rest of our days enjoying their smiles and watching them continue to blossom! Happy 5th birthday Hannah and Sarah... Mommy, Daddy, and Caleb all love you very much!

Thursday, April 14, 2011

According to Sarah

(she's no expert, but she did stay at a holiday inn once...)

For a (almost) five year old, Sarah really has become quite authoritative on a few subjects lately. The topics in my van today really demonstrated her know-how on some really deep stuff...

On farming:

Hannah: "Do eggs come from chickens?"

Mommy: "Yes"

Hannah: "Do they come out when they poo?"

Sarah: "That's silly Hannah, of course not! They shoot out their poo-poo holes when they're not pooping! If they did it when they poo, it would be gross!"

On Undertaking:

Sarah: "What's that place over there?"

Mommy: "A cemetary. It's where they bury dead bodies after someone dies"

Hannah: "What?!"

Mommy: "Some people want to have their bodies preserved after they die, so they have their bodies put in a special box called a coffin and then they're buried underground"

Sarah: "Yeah, and it's real hard. You have to be REAL careful to put the bodies in the boxes cuz they're real fragile. If you're not careful, the bodies will break apart into lots of little peices, then it's real messy and you have to put each peice in the box one at a time before you bury it."

On Zookeeping:

Mommy: "We're going into the petting zoo, but be careful not to run after the animals because you'll scare them"

Sarah: "I know Mommy, there's a special way to go up to the animals... you have to tiptoe and sneak up on 'em, and then when you're close enough, grab 'em and run before they freak out!"

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Gardening FAIL

Should I be allowed to raise people when this is what I do to plants?? I can't even keep baby tomatos and cucumbers alive. Seriously, I did my very best with these... watered them only when the soil got dry, let them get plenty of sun, even encouraged the wee ones to talk to them for crying out loud! Guess we're making a trip to home depot for the fully formed versions, which thankfully I have kept alive in the past. Really, though, how hard is it to keep seedlings alive for 4 measily weeks?

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Babies: Little Mysteries Wrapped in Diapers

Caleb has had a strange problem since last Wednesday that has been confounding Ryan and I. The boy suddenly won't eat. And it's wierd because he won't even eat food he likes, like bread and pizza. What's even stranger is we can find no rhyme or reason behind it. Once every other day or so since Wed. he will binge on something, usually something totally non-nutritive, like waffles or cereal, but then for the rest of the day will eat practically nothing, not even his most beloved foods. He seems to have zero appetite, and even gags upon putting food into his mouth and either pockets it like a squirrel or spits it out immediately. It's very strange, and we can't find a single reason why. He doesn't appear to have any other symptoms of trouble... no evidence of teething, no constipation, no complaints of feeling sick to his stomach or having a sore throat, no acting under-the-weather, etc. And what's worse, we can't wring a single clue from him as to why he won't eat. It's like talking to the Scandinavian operator "Peggy" from the Discover Card commercials...

"Hi, my name is Peggy..."

You ask him, "Does your tummy hurt?"..."*Djess (*yes)" (he nods emphatically, pie eyed and with a goofy grin)

"Does your throat hurt?!"..."Djess"

"Why aren't you eating?!"..."Djess"

"Can you fly?"... "Djess"

"Is your name Fred?"... "Djess"

It really is maddening. I'd love to find out whats up with the boy, but I'm afraid I'll probably never get an answer and a day or two from now he'll just mysteriously start eating again (I hope).

And this isn't our first go round in the nut-case infested waters of parenting. I remember the first time Sarah ever had a real temper tantrum. She was about 18 months old, and one minute she's playing happily on the floor with her sister, and the next minute she stood up, opened her mouth, and began a keening wail that continued for what seemed like an eternity. We tried and tried to figure out what could be wrong with the little pixie... "Did your sister hurt you?" ..."Waaah!" "Are you hurt?!" "Waaah!" "Sad?!" "Waaah!" "What the heck is wrong, Sarah?!" "Waaah!" ... this continued on for a good 45 minutes before we threw up our hands and decided to take her to the nearby E.R. for an exam because we figured there had to be something bodily wrong for a person to continue crying hysterically for that long for no discernable reason. Luckily for our pocketbooks, by the time we got into the parking lot of the E.R. it was like a switch was suddenly hit and she all of the sudden stopped crying and started sweetly singing "Amazing Grace" in her babyish version of slurred chinese with her sister accompanying next to her from her carseat. We never did find out what caused the breakdown, but we soon learned that this was just the first of many episodes of emotional hysterics which came to be Sarah's norm for when she had tantrums at that age.

I remember another episode when Hannah was just 5 weeks old, still a squirming, wriggling mound of angry pink mush in a onesie (the angry part, alas, continues still today, sigh...that girl has a blazing temper!)... she hadn't pooed in two days, which was really unusual for her, since she was still a tiny infant, and she had also gone from an angry ball of pink mush to a completely furious ball of kicking screaming mush. Being new parents we threw up our hands and drove her to the E.R. at 10:30 at night to try to see what was causing the back-up. We were also so severly sleep deprived, which can drive even the most rational person to thinking up the strangest scenarios for their baby's woes ("Did her stomach explode?! Are her bowels twisted and deformed and she'll never lead a normal life and I'll have to feed her that $9000 formula that that kid on the Discovery Channel Medical Mysteries show needed because they had the same diseased bowel problem?? Will she never lead a normal life?? Oh woe is us!")... by the way, let me digress here and say, if you are expecting a child or are a new parent, NEVER WATCH THAT SHOW!... The Discovery Health people seem to make a sport out of convincing normal, well-educated parents that their child could have any number of unpronounceable, unheard of diseases just becuase they seem to cry at a different pitch or, say, haven't pooped in 2 days... Also, never ever Google your child's symptoms. They will have you convinced your child has one foot in the grave in no-time.

So $600 in X-rays later, the Dr. in the E.R. walks in with good news. "Well, I can't find anything really wrong with her, but she really is full of crap." I'd love to see the diagnosis code for that one. It's definitely a genetic disorder, though.

So we took our angry squirming princess home and after about an hour spent bicycling her teensy little legs, she erupted like Mt. Vesuvius all over the wall, the carpet, her blankets, and her Mommy, after which all was once more right with the world.

Don't get me wrong, kids are soooooooo worth it, but I know now why parents' hair seems to gray faster than couples without kids. Any insight into what's up with Caleb would be much appreciated, because for now he remains my little "mystery wrapped in a diaper". He may be able to talk, but it's not much more informative than "Mr. Peggy" at the moment.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

What I meant to say was...

"I do not think that word means what you think it means" (Inigo Montoya, "The Princess Bride")

I have a nasty habit of answering trivia questions way too quickly, and being so completely sure I'm right that I hardly wait to fact check myself. The other night during bible study time with Ryan, we stopped for a question of his...

"What was that word for when people used to whip themselves as an act of humility and worship? I can't remember..."


(silence and a smirk from Ryan)

"I don't think that's quite it, hunny"

"No, really, it was called 'flatulation'" (I say with a perfectly straight face and no inkling of what just came out of my mouth... happens all too often, unfortunately)

As Ryan begins to giggle... I realize my error and correct myself...

"Flagellation... I meant flagellation!"

"Oh good, I was beginning to worry that people were worshipping by letting it rip over and over... 'I love God!...toot toot!'"

It's nice that we can still have a good giggle over something as simple as fart-humor... that's what really cements our marriage together ;)