Water, Water, Everywhere

Especially soaked into stuffed animals.

The Howler has a thing for water. I don't understand it, but it's getting on my nerves.

She spends all winter whining that she can't fill up her pool and play in it. She fights getting into a bath, but then fights getting out of it.

Last summer, she figured out how to turn on the outside spigot and NOT have it discovered by those inside the house.

This winter, she's constantly running water, either in the kitchen sink or the bathroom sink. Usually when Blondie is over. Now, I don't blame Blondie, mostly because while the incidents occur most often when Blondie is here, they are not happening exclusively when she's here. I can do that math.

Up 'til now, though, it involved at most, a few cups of water, used to "clean sumting". Usually taken carefully into the living room (no puddles between here and there, either) for me to discover that the Princess tea party with cart has a tray filled with cold water.

Today, Blondie is over, and they decided they needed to play vet's office, upstairs. This is Red Flag #1.

I heard doors being shut, and I heard water running. (Red Flag #2) These things, in normal people's lives, means that little girls are using the bathroom for it's intended purposes--and luckily, I'm not hearing reruns of the arguement over who is supposed to pee first.

But that "luckily" is Mumple luck, and that translate into a cold, wet mess for me.

I go upstairs to look for signs of man-made lakes in the Howler's room.

I discover a closed bathroom door, hear whispers, and when I ask, "Ladies, what are you doing?" there's a shuffle to unlock (yes, UNLOCK) the bathroom door. (Red Flag #3) Apprehension builds.

They're both fully dressed, and dry. Whew!

Ah, but not so fast.

"Mommy, we were just cleaning up some of my toys." (Red Flag #4)

Terror strikes the heart.

They have, in the tub, about 2 gallons of icy cold water, two Rudolph hard plastic reindeer, and....

1 webkins dog
1 purple valentine unicorn
1 webkins unicorn
1 webkins Arabian horse
and
1 stuffed brown horse.

After draining the tub, squeezing as much water out of these things as I can, and informing the twins that there is NO MORE WATER running in this house for the two of them OR ELSE (5 year olds are still sufficiently threatened by OR ELSE, aren't they?), I head to the basement and the dryer to hopefully dry them out before they get moldy, and muck up the carpets.

I spy a cat looking at me like I'm the insane one in the house today, and I casually inform her, "Keep it up, YOU'RE next."

The cat runs to hide.

I wish I was that cat.

You're Fired!

Tonight, after bathtime, the Howler fired both her father and I.

What a relief! We were not as upset as, I imagine, she thought we would be.

Granted, we can't collect unemployment, but we don't have to do her laundry, take her places, buy her meals, or pick up all her toys anymore. We don't have to worry about whether or not she's scared to be upstairs in bed at night anymore, either.

We were un-fired a short time later, when reality, and darkness, set in.

Valentines from the Howler

Reaction

The Howler, apparently, has a reaction to Augmentin.

Cripes. Like we need more excuse this winter to vomit.

Thursday, I get her in to see the doc. It's decided that she does need a lung-function test, to be sure that she either does have, or does not have, asthma. I'm gearing up for the inevitability of having to explain that hers is NOT allergy induced--it's viruses, and now, we've added exercise to the list of things that make the Howler go "hack."

Anyway, I've adjusted myself to this--I was truly hoping and praying that since she outgrew the underlying condition of her infanthood we'd not have to do this again.

I'm not that lucky--we are the Mumples, after all.

So, we're on inhalers this time (everyone in her life hated that nebulizer and compressor). And they prescribed an antibiotic--augmentin--for the snot and crud in her head.

She began vomiting at 4am on Monday morning. I called off work, not entirely certain it was the flu, but willing to hold my baby's hair while she vomited. She slept a while longer, and was fine most of the day.

She grudgingly accepted the dietary restrictions, aka the BRAT diet, and then had chicken soup for supper. She was fine.

Since the nurse at the doc's office said that once she kept food down, give her the antibiotic again, we did.

She was vomiting in her sleep two hours later!

It was horrible--re-bathing her at 11:30pm; washing her hair and drying it. Changing the bed, etc. I was also looking at needing to wash the exact same laundry I'd washed just hours before.

I called off work, again, with the promise of a doc's excuse.

So, we get to the doc's office and they agree--it's the augmentin. Don't give it to her. (Duh)

After we get home (since I didn't have much time earlier to look it up), I do an internet search. Augmentin is amoxicillan with Clavulanic acid added to deter the resistant bacteria from doing it's thing.

Now, I wonder, if she's taken amoxicillan in the past with absolutely no problems, does this mean that she's reacting to the other stuff in augmentin, but do I need to be wary of all penicillan based antibiotics?

Of course, I have concluded (I have no medical degree, but I am an expert on Howler) that from this point forward, any bad reactions she has to medicines will involve copious amounts of vomit.

It has been, to put it bluntly, very much like her body has said, "I don't f*ing think so." (Which, when I think about it, is a totally Howler sentiment, even if she doesn't actually say it.)

Meet Vince

Toadwort is being scheduled for upteen thousand night shifts. Amazing as it is, they're open 24 hours, so, naturally, anyone over the age of 18 and out of HS may very well find him- or herself working *overnights*.

The Toad is NOT a night person. Even as an infant, toddler, preschooler, etc., he was in bed early ("with the chickens" as it were) and up early. He gets very extremely grumpy if he's up too late, and if he's over tired from not enough sleep (upwards of 8 hours a night) he may also get physically (read: vomitus) sick.

The other night, he was scheduled to be at work at 12:30am. He woke up around 10:30pm, wandered downstairs to stand, bleary-eyed and skulking, near my Sweetie and me. He said nothing, but looked at us with red eyes and a scowl that said, "I'm here to kill you."

Not attractive.

Even less attractive is his inclination to be non-verbal during these times: he comes up with sometimes elaborate and confusing sign language that no being on the planet could figure out what it means.

That night's was to grab my hand and force it to his forehead. Apparently, he was hoping for some raging fever so that he could call off. It helped his case not-at-all that he blew off a church event he said he'd be at, and that he didn't go back to be to get some more sleep until almost 8:30pm. He'd worked the night before, and obviously did not get enough rest.

He was lovely. A joy to behold, really.

Not.

After I told him that he was not feverish and that his biggest problem is that he needs to actually GET sleep (no one here bothers him before noon when he's working these shifts). He'd be fine, and he was going to go to work--If it killed him, he wordlessly stomped back up stairs and disappeared. A short time later, he showered and stomped back downstairs, glaring death-daggers at me the whole time, then left for work.

The next morning, my Sweetie informs me that Toadwort was arguing with Vince. I'm thinking "WFT?" and so he explains.

Toad gets in the shower, and begins loudly decrying the injustice of working overnights. He's liberally using the f-bomb. He's loud, to the point where his stepfather actually thought he was arguing with someone.

So, the invisible non-friend has been dubbed Vince.

It's so nice to know that both my children have invisible friends who are deranged.

Pube Cube

The Toad gets paid every other Thursday. He's been rather good about putting money back to pay his insurance and to be sure he has gas money.

He currently owes his grandmother $88 because she paid for another anti-biotic for him.

He apparently spent his entire paycheck this week on gas money and a Game Cube.

Now, I don't bother to keep up with all this game system crap. I don't play the games, and I don't care.

He disappeared yesterday afternoon for a few hours. He came home with a HUGE shopping bag, and a smirk. He tried to sneak it up stairs. Like I hadn't been standing at the kitchen window watching him talk to himself all the way across the yard.

Duh.

She's Always a Lady

The Howler's had the Coughing Crud. At least it's been a loose cough and since we finally convinced her to spit the crud out, she's actually been feeling better. (The incident at school in gym class not withstanding--oh, and throw in a hyperventilating overreacting school nurse, too.) We've done pretty well stress where to spit, too, requiring minimal reminders.

Last night after getting a shower, the Howler starting coughing. I could tell by the sound it was going to be one of those coughs--and yelled out to remind her to "spit it out." I no sooner get the words out and I hear a noise. Those parents of boys, especially pre-teens, know what I'm talking about.

The next thing I hear is my Sweetie yelling, "NOT ON THE FLOOR! THAT IS SO GROSS!"

I'm trying not to fall over laughing.

Yeppers. My baby girl--always a lady.

The Arguement

The Winner for Best Arguement EVER is:

Blondie stopped over yesterday. They did pretty well with not being "itchy", and played together. A few of the usual "you're mean" spats, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, at some point, a rest break was scheduled. Up the stairs, then down the stairs. Both of them talking at once. Blondie's voice actually goes up when she's trying to make her case; the Howler's just gets that whine in it. (Not attractive--even the cats ran.)

So, finally, I get them to talk one at a time, and the arguement was basically over who got to pee first.

It was the Howler's turn last time; it was supposed to be Blondie's this time.

They were arguing about whose turn it was to pee. I wish life could remain that simple: to have happiness revolve around being first to pee in a line of two.

I'm still laughing.