Man colds

The other day my almost three year old woke up with a runny nose and a small cough. In the morning he lounged around, laying about on the sofa, whining to watch his favorite cartoons and thinking that he was about to be full blown sick.

In the afternoon, the scenario took a bit of a turn. He was up running around, throwing things, screaming, laughing and generally carrying on in a normal, non-sick toddler fashion. Then, I tried to have him pick up his toys, suddenly a faucet of snot sprang out of his nose, a weak cough was emitted from between his lips along with some sort of high pitched whine, as he threw himself on the couch. That's when it hit me.....my son, though not even three, had his first "man cold". For any one that may not be familiar with the term, a man cold is when a simple cold completely, totally, and unequivocally incapacitates a member of the the male sex. I have seen man colds put the strongest of men on the couch, cuddled up with "blankies", whining that they need their soup, and asking "do I have a feeeeeeeeeever?"

So when staring down the barrel of my son's first man cold, I realized, I could, put a stop to the vicious cycle that perpetuates the man cold. So I did what any other mother would do when faced with the same choice. I looked into the big brown eyes of my whining son, I wiped of the snot that was dripping down his upper lip and told him, "Suck it up J"

My name is Kim and I have a confession.

I am chronically early to things. Growing up the big running joke in my family was that my mom would be late to her own funeral. To her being 10 minutes late was the same as being early and being 30 minutes late meant that she was on time. Also, every clock she owned was set to a different time. Some clocks were fast, others were slow, all by varying degrees. It drove me nuts.

In the last 2 years I have been late to something maybe twice and I can guarantee that those were because of my husband (a.k.a the slowest man on the planet). But, in truth I have no problem being on time to things. However, the problem lies in the fact that I hate so much to be late to things, I am usually ridiculously early to them.

In my head, if I am not at least 10 minutes early, than I am late. I routinely show up to things a half an hour early. Now for some things, like the movies, I am really only inconveniencing myself. Parties are a different story. Showing up 30 minutes before the party even starts is a bit awkward. Even though I know this about myself I seem powerless to stop it.

Looking back just got a whole lot easier.

Technology is great isn't it? It used to be if you lost touch with someone, maybe they changed their phone number or moved, that was it unless there was some odd chance encounter. In today's world you have to work quiet hard at losing touch with someone. Ah, the wonderful world of Facebook. I'll be the first to admit, I love it and I am addicted.

An added benefit is being able to "check-up" on people from my past (I am totally aware that this makes me sound a bit stalker-ish). Sure, due to privacy settings, you may only be able to see a picture and perhaps status updates. But for me there is something oddly comforting in knowing that people from my past are out there somewhere. It's also nice when people from my past find me. It's nice to know that after a year or ten that someone has thought about me enough to warrant a checking of my name.

Parents as Teachers can suck it.

When we were in the hospital after delivering Jackson they brought by all this information. One of the pamphlets talked about Parents as Teachers. Parents as Teachers (PAT) is a program where a trained "teacher" comes to your house and supposedly works with you, the parent, to help you "teach" your child (hence the name). Now in the information on the program it all sounds good. Who wouldn't want someone to show them special tips and tricks for helping their child learn? So I signed up.

Our first visit was when Jackson was 6 months old. The lady, I'll call her C, came over and "evaluated" Jackson to see where he was developmentally. C also asked at least three times if we received WIC or food stamps. The first time I said "no". Then I got a bit irritated. I am not saying there is anything wrong with people who receive government assistance, but I just don't happen to be one of them. C also inquired, several times, whether or not there was a father in the picture....hmmmm, ok, that isn't really any of her business, but whatever. I thought maybe this was just and initial get to know you type thing, so I went with it.

The second visit went pretty much as the first. "Is J doing this? Great, What about that? Great". But C still threw in a few questions that made me pause. Such as, "Is there enough formula around?" or "Does he seem to like the food from WIC?" Okay, as I said on our previous visit, I don't receive WIC. I almost wanted to offer for her to look through our cabinets. She also again inquired about a father being in the picture. At this visit she also managed to get J's age and name wrong....several times.

The third visit was slightly better, but more of the same. She got J's age wrong again, but at least she had stopped with the ridiculous questions. The next few visits went alright. She would come over and ask questions and then say, "Well he is just doing so great." Not so much with the tips and tricks, this one. On a local mommie's board I belong to other people raved about their Parents as Teachers person. "OOOO" the would gush, "They showed me the neatest trick"

So that brings us to today, which will be our last visit. C once again came over and "evaluated" J. "Oh, he is just doing so good, Is he getting enough to eat?" WTF. I am not a letter writer, but I am considering writing the Independence Public School District a letter, expressing my extreme displeasure at this "service".

Book Binge

I am a binge reader. If I start a book, my life pretty much stops until I get it read, and then I immediately want to read something else. In the last few weeks I have read probably 15 books. In one 24 hour period I finished three books (a personal record I think). It is a blessing and a curse. I can read super fast, but I am not great at retaining information. Also, as my book club bitches will attest to, if I am reading a book to discuss at book club then I can be quite critical of it (they might say that is putting it mildly). However, if I am reading purely for entertainment purposes then I can read, and enjoy, pretty much anything.

Part of the reason I have been reading so much lately is because of our new elliptical. I have been working out five nights a week and found that if I read a book it helps the time pass quickly and enjoyably. Although, with that comes drawbacks. As I said before if I start a book, I have to finish it. Life around me comes to a stand still. The dishes are put off, dinner is something I can cook with a book in one hand, school work is absolutely forgotten about. But it's become a nasty cycle. I can't exercise without reading, yet I can't only read while I am exercising. Needless to say, our house is a complete sty at the moment. I am going to have to figure out some sort of compromise though, because with school starting back up, I do have other obligations that need to be attended to.

When did this happen?

I am 30....there I've said it. Accepting it is a whole different story. Everyday when I wake up I constantly need to remind myself of this, that I am in fact 30, not in my early 20's like I think.

I am not aging gracefully. I am terrified of getting older. In my job I am constantly faced with the downside of getting old: failing health, cancer, decay. In my 20's it was easier to deal with because I always thought those people were so much older than me. However, as my age advances, I am faced with people in the hospital that are my parent's age, my friend's age, my age.

I have tried to come to grips with my age. But, what does it mean to be 30? On paper it seems as if I am there. I have a house, a mortgage, a child, a husband, two cars along with two car payments. None of these things seem to compute with my 20 something brain. In my mind I am still the punk rock girl, looking for shows, ready to drink, stay up all night, blow money on ridiculous purchases. The other day I sat around and contemplated getting a full chest tattoo or perhaps a nose ring. I still do these things. I still laugh when someone says "balls". (Seriously, I laughed for an entire day just thinking about situations of people saying balls.) My body and my mind are not on the same page. Now when I stay up too late (past 10:30) I have to figure out when I can squeeze a nap in the next day. When I drink too much, my body reminds me for the next 24 hours that this is not acceptable behavior. Going to a show? Ha! First, let me find a babysitter, make sure the band doesn't go on until at least 7:30, and then make sure to be home by 10:30 and not drink to much, lest my body really punish me.

I look at women around me, my age and older, who seem to be fine with an extra candle on the birthday cake each year, but whatever they have I do not. I will most likely be that women in her 60's with dyed hair and wearing clothes that are not even close to age appropriate.

Christmas in 18 hours or less

When my husband and I were first together, we were always very excited about Christmas together. We would go shopping in secret and set aside a special time to open our presents for each other. As the years wore on, Christmas got kind of boring. With a mortgage and two car payments, we usually just got a joint gift and called it a night. We would still try and do something special to mark the holidays, like a special meal, but over the years it just became another day.

Then we had J. Oh the first Christmas with him was so exciting. He was 9 months old. We went all out. We bought a new tree and new decorations. We put the tree up on Thanksgiving. We bought tons of presents for him that he didn't want, need, or even really care about. The big morning came and we scooted him over to his presents (he couldn't even crawl yet). He just sat there staring as me and S both had separate cameras out flashing away like mad. He just sat there staring. Finally, we realized we would have to open the presents for him. Which we did, giddy and giggly, shoving each new present in his face. He would laugh and touch things and spin wheels and push buttons, but his enthusiasm quickly waned.

First Christmas' are very special. I will always remember that day. How excited we were for J. No one ever really talks about the second Christmas....and for good reason. We decided early on in the season that we weren't going to be putting the tree up until the day of Christmas. J is into everything an him with a Christmas tree, I could just imagine, would drive me to drink.

The second Christmas is just kind of awkward. J doesn't know what Christmas is, doesn't know about Santa, doesn't even really get the whole present thing yet. There aren't a ton of really cool toys to get jazzed up about getting a near 2 year old. I kept looking and looking for that one thing that I saw in the store and just couldn't wait for him to open....but nothing. He gets more excited about the wrapping paper than whats underneath it.

On Christmas eve J and I tried watching Christmas Vacation, Elf and other Christmas movies....but go figure he would rather watch Finding Nemo. We tried making Christmas cookies. J ate flour by the handfuls. So S and I waited until J went to bed Christmas eve, out the tree came. We decorated it and put the stockings up and wrapped all his presents and put them under the tree. J was suitably impressed when he got up and saw all the pretty lights. I even got an "ooooo cooo". We waited until S got home from work and then S and I broke out the dueling cameras and got to flashing away while J pointed to all the wrapping paper and said "ssssppppsss" which is his way of saying "spongebob", which is what was on the wrapping paper. Finally, after about 30 minutes my husband and I had unwrapped, that is to say helped J unwrap, all of his presents. J then spent the better part of the morning fawning over the shiny purple bag one of the presents came in.

We then sat down and had our Christmas ham and mashed potatoes as J ran from one new toy to the next. After putting J down for his nap I worked quickly to take down all the Christmas decoration. J will probably wonder where all the lights went when he wakes up. But that was our Christmas, 18 hours or less.