Jakey's Birthday

Jakey had a very eventful birthday.  First to school, where he received his birthday crown, birthday pencil and a morning with the "Birthday Monster" who apparently sings "Happy Birthday" in some sort of monster language.  Then it was off to the doctor's office for his six year check-up where he promptly became moody and fussy about his state of undress.  Jakey is modest in the extreme and I have no idea where he gets it.  I clean the house naked and Max greeted a former teacher at the door naked and even spoke with her for several minutes.  Our house is a virtual nudist colony, yet Jakey is so shy he had me actually tie the back of his paper gown together.  Go figure.  After that ordeal was over, we brunched at Bob Evan's.  We were joined later by Daddy and Uncle Danny.  They had plenty of time to get there since the argument among the servers as to who was going to be forced to take our table lasted quite a while.  When we finally did get a server, I politely asked how she was, to which she only replied with a Slingblade type grunt.  I did not take this as a good sign.  But, the food was tasty, even if it was not timely.  No worries though, we were still able to get in a photo stop at Jakey's birthplace in front of my sister-in-law's house before he needed to be back at school for "networking". After school he walked straight to Granny's where he received his first present of the day, then it was back to our house for more presents.  I am very happy to report that he was thrilled with the shoehorn I gave him.  Andy scoffed, but Jake fell in love with the one at our hotel in Boston, so I knew it would be a hit.  Sadly, present revelry couldn't last too long because Jake had baseball practice.  Luckily, it was cut short due to our extraordinarily frigid spring weather.  So we were off to Chuck E. Cheese's, the highlight of any Ames' boy birthday. While the boys played, I was treated to a rather disturbing show of 80's hits from the Chuck E. Cheese Band.  (See below) Thankfully, they both made short order of their tokens, so after a tricky family portrait where we had to squeeze four people into a two person frame, we came home and the boys were off to sleep before their heads even hit the pillow.  This went for Andy too.

Lessons Learned From the Bathroom Of Kate's Irish Pub on St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day 2009.  It all started so nicely.  Mike and I got there just as the evening singer was starting his first set.  He began by playing my all-time favorite Irish song with one of the best lines ever written, "and we all got stone blind, paralytic drunk as the Old Dunn Cow caught fire." We even managed to get a seat.  Unfortunately, after a few pints of green beer, the necessity to visit the facilities arose and it all went downhill from there.  While waiting in line on my first trip, I was informed by the first girl coming out of the multi-occupied handicap stall that the toilet paper supply was nil.  No surprise this late on St. Patrick's Day.  I reached over and deftly grabbed a paper towel, to which the first girl replied "That's brilliant!  What a great idea. Can I have one?"  I gave her mine with the instructions to "put it in the trash can, not the toilet or we're all done for."  She promised she would and I felt that particular satisfaction when useful knowledge gets passed from one generation to another.  While waiting for the other occupants to emerge from the stall, a very drunk woman who was also in line suddenly glanced at the mirror and slurred loudly, "Gahhdammit.  Alba got me.  The bitch got me."  It seems, Alba, the bar owner's wife, was responsible for the woman's suddenly green hair and she was none too pleased.  I don't know how she missed someone coming at her with a big can of green hairspray, one more of the dangers of drinking to excess I guess.   "I'vvve got a big gahdamn meetin tomorrow" she went on "thisss ssshit better come out."  We all assured her it would.  "You better be right!  I gotta big gahdamn meetin' tomorrow!"  I told her again that it would come out with one, maybe two shampoo, rinse, repeats at best.  "It better.  I cahn't show up to the gahdamn meetin like this.  Gahhdamn Alba."  Apparently, showing up to a meeting bleary eyed, hung over and reeking of booze isn't what puts a blight on one's professional demeanor, it is the green hair that takes you from competent career woman on the go to whispers in the boardroom with no hope of advancement.  Lesson one learned.   

On my second foray to the ladies room, I was blissfully surprised to find it completely empty. This was especially advantageous since the particularly greasy basket of chips had worked its magic on my delicate system.  I took my position in the stall and decided, since I had some time on my hands, to check Twitter on my iPhone.  Shortly thereafter a woman came and occupied the only other stall in the bathroom, which was unfortunate, since two completely hammered girls came stumbling in, one of them exclaiming loudly "Ohmygahd, Igottapee! I'mgonnaexplode! I'mgonnadie!  Igottapee, Igottapee, IGOTTAPEEEE!!!!!"  I guess her friend decided to take the bull by the horns and come to her distressed friends aid, since all of sudden I looked up from my Tweets to see her foot come bursting through as my bathroom stall door wildly flung open with a crash.  Rest assured, I was in no position to receive visitors and quickly became very ill tempered.  I believe I said something eloquent like "What the f#$*?"  They then both sauntered in and just stared at me.  When I informed them that I wasn't "going anywhere until they got the f@#* out," the one who kicked in the door looked at the one who had to pee and said "Oh, I guess we've got a bitch." (Insert long pause of shock and dismay)  This is when I thought I would truly loose my mind, but I wasn't about to get up (for a good many reasons) and the only thing I had to throw was my iPhone and I probably wouldn't have hit either one of them since, thanks to the beer, my aim was probably not at its best and I throw like a five year old girl on a good day.  So, I simply reverted to screaming and cursing until they sauntered back out.  I knew then that I would sit there all night if need be because it would be a cold day in hell before I let either of those bitches come within inches of my now entrenched position.  Sadly, the woman in the other stall finished up before the girl who had to pee could explode and find herself in a large puddle of her own shame, which is exactly what I was hoping for.  They both wedged themselves into the tiny stall, whereupon the peeing girl, not having peeing on her mind anymore, began to expound on her feelings for Mark.  "Ohmygaahd. I'mssoogayforMahhrk. I'mtotallygonnablowhimtonighhht.  I'msooogayforhim."  At least I was free to go.  

On the way back to my table I passed one of the bartenders and the aforementioned owner's wife, Alba, and thought I would take the opportunity to tell her of my bathroom tete a tete. Thankfully, I got the outraged response I was looking for and hopes of a gleeful revenge sprang forth.  I accompanied Alba to the restroom, pointed out the offending drunkards and quickly took leave before a near certain fisticuffs ensued with me in the middle of it.  I jauntily walked back to my table with the assurance that justice would be done and excited by the happy ending to my wacky tale of woe.  I took my seat, removed my shamrock tiara so I would be less noticeable to two girls seeking revenge as they were being very publicly hauled out of a bar and waited for satisfaction.  So, you can imagine my surprise when ten minutes later they were both shakin' a leg out on the dance floor. Not only that, but some guy (who I can only assume was the previously slurred about Mark) was bringing them MORE BEER.  I was outraged.  I was pissed. And a little more worldly wise.  Lesson Two:  Cowardice will not bring you justice.  If you want to see justice served, you can't just waltz away and hope for the best.  You have to stick around and risk getting embroiled in a cat fight.  And if you're not willing to do that, there is a single room bathroom with deadbolt at the 7-11 down the street.

The Price of Fame

                                               

It's been an eventful week for Jake.  The day after his dramatic emergency room rescue, he got to go to a Wizards game with Supermarket, Max and me.  The original lineup included Max's friend Jordan instead of Supermarket, but it turned out he had baseball practice at the same time, so he couldn't go.  Max was bummed at the time, but it really turned out in our favor, because when you travel with Supermarket, you travel in style.  Instead of the snuck-in, free, healthy snacks they would have gotten with me, we all went to the fancy, gourmet, buffet perched above center court.  Not only that, we got the best center, front row, balcony seat because Supermarket tipped the Maitre' d her free travel coffee cup that was the front door give away that night.  He admired it.  She gave it to him.  We got a great seat.  Go figure.  It wasn't really much of a loss for my mom anyway, she doesn't drink coffee.  At halftime, we went to our official seats.  I was a little disappointed because during the move, we missed those guys that balance each other in various astounding positions, which for me was the most interesting part of the night because I hate basketball.  The saving grace was the Dunking Contest during one of the breaks.  First they had their very nimble mascot, G-Whiz come out and stuff the ball through the hoop by running and jumping on a trampoline.   Then they had some regular Joe's take a go at it.  Hilarity ensued when the slightly heavier and certainly less limber Joe Six-Packs made their runs only to hit the trampoline a little short and go flailing through the air the the awaiting ultra thick safety mat.  I'd really like to read the waiver these guys surely signed before being allowed onto the court.  "Joe Six-Pack agrees to release Verizon Center, The Wizards, G-Whiz, and all their representatives, agents, successors and assigns from any and all claims or causes of action for all injuries including, but not limited to, slipped discs, sprained knees, pulled groins and loss of dignity, that may result from or occur during participation in this ridiculous grasp at fifteen minutes of minor fame and a free t-shirt."

The Saddest Story Ever Told

So, the whole family came over to the house yesterday for an impromptu "Yay!  Erica's pregnant!" celebration.  Dessert time came and my mother-in-law brought out the the Key Lime Pie that she made. As she was cutting it, I realized that it was March 14, 3/14.  I turned to my sister-in-law and said, with complete glee and enthusiasm, "Oh!  It's Pi Day!  We're having pie on Pi Day!" They all looked at me with great pity like I was the biggest geek in the whole wide world. Even my nephew who had a Rubik's Cube Off with the janitor at his middle school. 

One More Reason For Christina To Dislike The Medical Establishment

Tuesday afternoon started off pretty much the same as any other afternoon.  Max came through the door with a hearty "hi mom".  Jakey followed a few seconds later screaming and crying about Max shutting the door on him.  Max looked dismayed, "What?  Were supposed to close the door." This argument might have held some water if, at any previous time, he had ever shut the door without being reminded.  As with every other afternoon, the fighting gave way to pleas for food.  So, I lovingly prepared a hearty and nutritious afternoon snack consisting of whole wheat Goldfish, organic applesauce and a low-fat, part-skim cheese stick.  Half way through his apple sauce, Jakey hobbled into the living room doubled over, "My tummy huwts.  I need a wittle gween pill".  The little green pill in this case was Gas-X.  Jakey is very familiar with the stuff.  Ever since he was a baby he's used it in copious amounts.  Now we regularly buy the big box from Costco.  300 pills for $8.99.  I gave him one.  No relief.  Another.  Still no relief.  He wanted more, but I told him he was cut off.  "Maybe he needs to poop", I thought. "Jakey did you poop this morning?" I asked.  "No" he whined.  "Did you poop yesterday?"  Again, "No". Uh-oh.  I asked once more, this time a little more panicky, "Well, did you poop Sunday?" "Nuh-uh." I was somewhat relieved when I recalled my mother mentioning that Jakey had pooped at the hotel on Saturday.  It seems my poor father was left cooling his heals while Jakey spent a good 20 minutes in the potty.  Apparently, the situation became so desperate that my father had to make other arrangements for himself.  This is why my mother found the episode noteworthy enough to mention it to me.  

Now that we had the cause, we aimed straight for the cure.  Jakey was barely on the toilet for a minute when he decided the effort was futile and that he wanted to get up.  I assured him that, in matters like these, patience is, indeed, a virtue. This argument was lost on a five year old, so I had to go straight for scare tactics.  "You know, Jake, if you can't poop on your own, we'll have to get some medicine that you'll have to put in your bottom."  He laughed and laughed.  That was not the reaction I was going for.  Sadly, all the laughter made his belly hurt again and he became convinced the butt medicine was for him.  A few minutes later, we were off.  We dropped Max at Chess Club, then headed straight to CVS for suppositories.  Jakey was still in too much pain to walk, so I carried him in and put him in a buggy and wheeled him to the suppository section.  They had plenty of remedies in stock, unfortunately, all of them had the warning "DO NOT USE WHEN ABDOMINAL PAIN IS PRESENT." Shoot, now I was truly at a loss.  Not knowing what else to do, I decided to called the Kaiser advise nurse to see if she had anything useful to say.  I told her the whole story, she asked me a few questions and then she put me on hold.  For a very long time.  In hind sight, I should have hung up, bought the suppositories and gone home, but I didn't.  I sat there, dutifully, waiting for some sage advice from those better educated than myself  in these matters.  What I got instead was: 

Nurse:  "Ma'am?  You need to take him to the closest emergency room as soon as possible." 

Me:   "Wait.  What?  Seriously?"  

Nurse:  "Yes, Ma'am."  

Me:  "Because, I'm pretty sure he just needs to poop."  

Nurse:  "Ma'am,  we're concerned he may have appendicitis."

Me:  "Um.  Wouldn't he have a fever or being throwing up..."

Nurse:  "Not always Ma'am.  It could be in the early stages."

Then she throws this at me, "Ma'am, it may be inconvenient, but it's for the safety of your child."  So, now I'm a bad mother and if I don't heed their advice my son will die and I'll have to live with the terrible guilt forever and then they'll arrest me for criminal neglect and Fox News will run story after story about what a bad person I am

 and people will write in saying things like, "What kind of mother, blah, blah, blah"...  So, we went to the damn hospital.

When we got there, Jakey wouldn't let me carry him, so he hobbled in mumbling the whole way, "This is so embawassing."  They sent us back to the pediatric waiting room, which was super kid-friendly, but they seemed to have forgotten there would grown ups accompanying the sick children, so the room was a little too small for it purposes, as was all the furniture in it. There we sat in our tiny chairs, in a tiny room, watching a very large TV that had a hand written sign on it that said "Please leave on child appropriate programming."  So, you can understand why I was a bit mystified as to why it was tuned to "The Good, The Bad And The Ugly", but I also wasn't in the mood to go toe to toe with the one dad who seemed to be paying attention to it, so there it stayed.  

After awhile, they finally called us, brought us to "Room"  3 and gave me a gown to put on Jake. The boy who thought simply walking into the ER was embarrassing was certainly none to please about this particular indignity and so the tears started to flow.  Not in the mood for a fight, and keenly aware that social workers were mere steps away, I turned to bribery.  Luckily, there was a little TV in our little curtained off area, so I told him he could watch Disney Channel once he put on the gown.  He quickly caved.  It's handy to know that my children will trade their dignity for the promise of a little weekday television viewing. Eventually, a doctor made her way to us and in very short order decided that Jakey was not suffering from appendicitis and was probably just constipated.  BUT, "why don't we run a few tests, just to make sure."  So I was left with the unenviable task of getting my bladder shy son to pee in a cup in front of me.   We made our way to the bathroom veeerrrry sllloooowwwllly, since I had to walk very closely behind Jakob, all the while holding the back of his gown completely together.  No gaps allowed.  I expected an epic battle once we got there, but lucky for me, the promise of looking away as I held the cup was enough for Jake.  Maybe he sensed Mommy was a little on edge and now was not the best time argue the nuances of who stands where and holds what when peeing into a cup.  When we arrived back at "Room" 3, I stood there with the curtain open looking around to see who might want to take my son's urine off my hands.  There were no takers.  Only a direction to set it on the metal tray in our "Room". Then, about 20 minutes into Hannah Montana, the x-ray tech popped by.  Again, we made our way veeeerrrrry sllllooooowwwly to the x-ray room.  Jakey was surprisingly cooperative there, as well.  

All seemed well, until we returned to "Room" 3 only to find that Jakey's cup 'o urine was still sitting on the tray.  I quickly found our nurse and let her know that someone needed to take it to the lab tout de suite or I might lose my mind.  She then informed me, in a punishing tone, that not only would the test results be another 45 minutes to an hour, but we would also soon be removed from "Room" 3 because they needed it for another patient. Sure enough, within a minute there someone was to boot us out of our "Room" and into the hall.  This is when I lost it and went on a mini-tirade about them letting my urine sitting there forever, but when they needed something from me, they sure worked lightening fast.  The woman who was moving us handled me very deftly, I could tell she'd been to at least one seminar on "How to Handle The Irate Mother".  She led us to an out of the way gurney, whipped out a Wii for Jakey to play and promised to check on the lab results immediately.  About five minutes later, a young woman came by and asked Jakey his name, then she looked at me and said in a fey voice "We're so crowded we put people all around and we forgot where we put them."  She tittered then walked away.  Clearly, she had not been to the same seminars as the first hallway lady. Meanwhile,  Jakey was having the time of his life.  He remarked "I got to watch TV AND play the Wii.  And, it's past bedtime!  I can't wait to tell Daddy."  "Yeah, it's a real shame he can't be here to experience it."  I thought.  

So now, having 45 minutes to an hour to kill, no desire to watch Jake play video games and a woefully uncharged iPhone, my only entertainment option was reading bulletin boards.  The one immediately to our right was a breakdown of how to achieve Inova Fairfax's goal of making peoples ER stays more enjoyable, or least less unpleasant.  I noticed under Length Of Stay, their goal was 120 minute (Oops, already missed it) but last month they were averaging 167 minutes.  "We'll see" I thought.  It was closing in fast.  I moved on to bulletin board two.  This one had flyers for continuing education seminars. My favorite one ended "Esphogeal Ruptures and much, much, more.  Prizes too!"  Finally, the doctor came back by letting us know that lots of technology confirmed what we all knew in the beginning.  Jakey was constipated and we were free to leave.  It was only after paying my $50 co-pay and leaving the hospital that I realized that I never got an answer to my first question about how to get Jakey to poop.  I was bitter, but not bitter enough to go back in.  I figured a very berry breakfast would probably do the trick.  Out of curiosity, I checked my watch as we walked to our car and, by god, it was exactly 167 minutes after our arrival. Uncanny.

Annual St. Pat's Parade Outing

                                           

The Dr.'s best guest about what's making me dizzy is that it's some sort of viral inner ear thing. Since this was my best guess too, my visit seems to have been fairly futile.  Apparently, I have to be dizzy two more weeks until I can be referred to an ENT.  Then it will probably be at least another 2 weeks until I actually see an ENT.  So, I'm just going to press on through, dizziness and all.  

Alexandria had their St. Patrick's Day parade this past Sat.  My mother, for the third year in a row, got a room at the Hotel Monaco so she and the boys could watch the parade without having to deal with weather or people.  I have to say, now that it's a "boutique" hotel, instead of your run of the mill, pedestrian Holiday Inn, the place is much more interesting.  You get a gold fish in your room and animal print robes in your closet.  They also make much ado about their "dog friendliness".  I find this feature particularly comforting, since any mess my children make should not stand out too much when compared with the hotel's furrier and, slightly less, potty trained guests.  

My father surprisingly decided to accompany my mother on this outing. When I dropped the boys off Friday afternoon, my mother announced the theme of the trip was "Make Grandpa Ron Feel Welcome."  (Previous vacation themes include "Cooperation" and "Love Thy Brother"). My father seemed skeptical.  I didn't blame him, since the children immediately came in and took over.  Out came the snacks and on went the Disney Channel.  Once their bellies were full of Smart Corn, the boys decided they wanted to go for a swim.  My father, again, surprisingly, decided he would swim with them, so off we went.  The boys had a great time diving, jumping, running, screaming, and basically flouting all the usual pool rules.  We were the only one's there, so it didn't seem like too big of a deal.  They also enjoyed getting thrown through the air by Granddad.  In fact, this was the highlight until I heard my father say "What the hell is that? All right, everybody out!"  That's when I realized there were odd bits and chunks floating in the pool.  I quickly scanned my children's faces for any traces of guilt.  I landed on Jake and asked what happened.  "I'm embawassed to say...it starts wif an 'f'."  I quietly asked "Did you fart in the pool and something came out?"  He replied, "No, I fwoo up"  To which Max ever constructively replied "Jakob, you dummy, 'threw up' starts with a 't'."  So, let it be known, Smart Corn + Horseplay= Pool Closed Due to Vomit.  It goes without saying that this incident did not really further the theme of the weekend.  I'm guessing this parade weekend will be Granddad's last and next year he'll send our part-time pooch, Butters, in his stead.

I returned with Andy the next morning, so we could watch the parade too.  It was entertaining, as usual.  It started out with Pat Troy berating the local businesses that chose not to put an ad in the program and his annual warning that this could be the last year for the parade if people don't shape up.  My favorite group was there, as always, Shriner's in mini-cars. Although, a new club came this year that might give them a run for their money, the Beard Brigade.  There were lots of ZZTop looking fellas and they even had a full on Moses.  I tell you, if he had turned his staff into a snake, they definitely would have taken first.

Waiting Room Aesthetics

I am now sitting in the waiting room at my Dr.'s office. At first I was happy to see the switch from Fox News to generic, bland, nature scenes accompanied by non-descript Muzak. The C.A.R.E. Network, it's called. For Continuous Ambient Relaxation Environment. They've even added a couple water features to the waiting area in the form of "trickling water over zen rocks" fountains. But, after waiting here for 30 minutes, I'm not so sure these things are improvements. I feel like they're more designed to keep me from getting irate about the fact that I have been sitting here for 30 minutes. I'm surprised that the office staff aren't all comatose listening to this stuff day in, day out. Perhaps this explains the extreme friendliness of everyone here. Maybe there are subliminal happy messages embedded in the C.A.R.E. Network programming. I'm pretty sure Fox New's embedded messages lean more toward the cranky and domineering. Probably the reason for the switch. I'm still mad about waiting though.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

OK.  For anyone who has met them, you'll know that my children are quite loud.  What's more, is that it's exponentially worse when they are together.  Now, there is something that makes it even more unbearable.  Apparently, I have some sort of ear infection that, instead of dulling my sense of hearing, enhances it.  So, now I feel like I have Bionic Woman hearing, only it's not a good and helpful tool for government spying.  It's more like, every scream, every whine, makes my head rattle like I'm chewing rocks.  Bright lights are now a problem too.  I took the kids to McDonald's for dinner (I know, I get Mother Of The Year) and between the noise and the lights I thought I was going to go crazy.  I had ear plugs in too.  So, the sight of the wincing woman with the blue earplugs likely made anyone there think I was already crazy.  I have a Dr.'s appt. tomorrow. Hopefully, they will have something useful to say.  Whatever they say, I hope they say it quietly. 

Could it be? A blog from my iPhone?

This fickle technology is vexing me today. Apparently, it's my day to be disappointed with Apple. First, the long awaited and much anticipated release of the new imac finally happened and it was as much of a big dull dud as Macworld. Where's my quad? I was promised a quad. Then, I thought I would give this blogging thing a go using iWeb, only to find out you can only edit your blog directly from your Mac, not from your iPhone. Huh? This seems like a no brainer. It's sad to say, but a post-Steve Jobs Apple is looking more and more woeful to me. And, The Woz is on Dancing With The Stars. A sure sign of the apocalypse.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

What? Christina is blogging?

So, I'm making the attempt to enter the narcissistic world of the bloggers.  I don't really know how many people will be interested in what I have to post here, but we shall see.  Mostly, I'm envisioning writing here during the long, long weekends filled with baseball, swim team and football.  Yes, this is a sports mom's last resort at something to do that is portable and entertaining.  Thank you iPhone.  We'll see how it goes.