Thursday, September 18, 2008

Why hello again emergency staff

Tonight was the night for our bi-annual visit to the emergency room. We do our best to stop by at least two, if not three times a year. You know, just to say "hi" and can my kid please have a ride in one of your x-ray imaging type things, and yes I'd like to make a large donation, as our savings account has been getting much too large recently and we need to keep that under control. Also, I really like to use these opportunities as a friendship litmus test. If you're willing to take my non-injured children for hours on end at a moments notice, then I give you the honor of being my official friend. And the privilege of doing it again in a couple months. It's a coveted spot, as I'm sure you can tell.
It has been at least a couple of months since our last visit, when Roman chewed up an old Vicodin and got to have tons of fun drinking "chocolate milk" aka charcoal, in the ER, so Dario Jr. thought it was about time we take another trip down to see our old friends at the hospital. The method he used to get us there was to run and slide across the tile in my newly mopped kitchen, thus resulting in his feet flying skyward and his skull crashing downward. He cried and I iced the goose egg and told him he would be fine. I was even nice enough not to take any pictures of his misery. I sent him to his room to rest, and then woke him up a couple of hours later because I needed to go to the store to get an ingredient I was missing for dinner. He cried some more and told me it hurt, but frankly, Dario can be somewhat of a drama-king so again I told him I knew it hurt but I thought he would be fine. The guilt set in a little when he started vomiting. So I called my neighbor Carol, aka "my new best friend", and she took my other kids while I rushed Dario to the ER.
Many hours, more vomiting, some stickers, some cartoons, and one CAT scan later, we have arrived back from our visit. He has a concussion, and luckily no bleeding or skull fractures. Although, can I tell you one thing? There was a moment there when the doctor was telling me he needed to check for a skull fracture and I was kind of thinking that if he actually did have one, that I could use that to my advantage. I could say, "See? I was right. You cracked your head open just like I always tell you will happen." I think I can still use it though. "Be careful! Remember that time when your brother almost cracked his head open?!?" That's still pretty good, right? Not quite the same ring, but possibly still effective.
Anyway, we got to see all our old friends again. We really missed Admitting Chick, Registered Nurse, CAT Scan Guy, ER Doctor, and especially Billing Lady. It was a nice visit and we promised to come back and see them real soon. Dario especially liked it. His statement as we left the ER-and I quote- "That was great! I had so much fun! Except for the puking." Good times, good times.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Apple baskets no more

You know what I hate? Ingrown toenails. That, and apple baskets. And that crust that develops around my faucet handles. But mostly apple baskets. But who doesn't like a delicious basketful of apples you ask? Me. That's who. Because I've been looking at flippin apple baskets pasted on the walls of my kitchen for the last four years of my life. Apple baskets and blue plaid country curtains. Oh, how I loathe apple baskets. But finally I have decided to do something about it.

Witness Exhibit A:

Witness Exhibit B:

I don't know why I didn't do this sooner. I actually prefer the look of raw drywall to the hideousness that was the wallpaper.

My daughter actually thinks removing wallpaper is fun. I've got a wallpaper remover and a meatball maker. This sort of free labor makes me rethink my decision not to have any more kids. Just think, if I pop enough of those suckers out, I could run me a plantation....

This child was not joining in the fun. He was too busy crying about some injury. So, like the good mother that I am, I comforted him by taking pictures of him crying.
Hey, it actually worked. I told him he could see the pictures but only if he stopped crying. So the crying stopped and he got to see what he looks like in full drama-mode, which is something most people don't get to do, (except for my sister who used to stand in front of the mirror while she cried so she could fully wallow in her own pity). Win-Win for everyone, see? Them's good parentin' skillz.

So fare-the-well apple baskets. Your ugliness shall not taunt me another day.