Reasons why. . . a photo essay (because I’m still feeling like crapola)

Reasons why I did not go to karate today:

• I still feel like crap: sore throat, cough, headache, body aches.
• All of my wonderful regular readers commented and let me know that it’s o.k. to not go to karate tonight (Even though I knew this, it’s especially good to hear it from very dedicated MA people.  I appreciate it. . . greatly.)
• Testing can wait.  If I’m not ready, I’m not ready.  I’ll survive the disappointment.

Reason why there is no picture for this segment:

• I still feel like crap,and by feel like crap I mean "look like crap."
• Because I still feel like crap, a picture would be scary.  In fact, it would probably be so scary that you would ditch reading/viewing the rest of this entry. . . and that would make me sad.
• A picture would be scary because I showered last night before bed, and went to sleep with wet hair.  Wet hair + fitfull fever-filled sleep=super scary bad hair day.  So, no picture. 

Moving right along. . . in honor of Father’s Day. . .

Reason why I am proud of my Dad:

The picture below is my dad on his ocean kayak.  He’s beyond the swell of the wave.  His oar is sticking up.  He has a two-man kayak and still went out in ridiculously rough waves.  I wasn’t proud of that part, just sort of scared and hoping I wouldn’t have to use my lifeguarding skills from my teenage years because that was a long time ago. . .   

The thing I’m proud of is this. . .

See that speck of orange down the beach?  In all the white foam of the waves? That’s him, well, actually not him.  That’s his kayak, seconds after the one end dug into the sand and catapulted him out of the kayak and onto the ocean floor.  I’m proud of the fact that he is still able to walk.  It didn’t look pretty.  I did, however, have to go running down the beach so I could drag the kayak back to the beach house since his back was killing him after being slammed onto his side.  I’m pretty proud of myself for that not so little feat as well.

Reasons why I am proud of Big I: 

• This is her climbing a rock wall.  This is the shorter of the two she climbed.  After she scaled this one without a problem, she climbed a 22. FOOT. WALL. while wearing SANDALS.  She had never done this before.  She totally rocked, no pun intended.  People were clapping and cheering.  That’s my Dad at the top of the wall cheering her on.  She is so darn brave.  I would have NEVER done this at her age.  Come to think of it,  uh-uh, still wouldn’t at my current age.  (Notice the skull and cross bones "tattoo" on her calf.) 

 

This is her climbing the 22 ft. wall.  It was definitely more challenging.

This is right after she rang the bell before repelling back down the wall.  By repelling I mean, banging off of all the rocks because she didn’t understand what repelling meant.  Oh well, who cares?  The crowd had dissipated after she rang the bell anyway. 

I am also proud of her because she taught herself how to swim underneath the water while on vacation.  She’s been doing a psuedo doggy-paddle thing since she turned three, but this underwater thing is opening up new horizons for her.  It’s going to be a fun summer.

I am also proud of what a great Big Sister she is to Lil C.  They are great buddies.

Reasons why I’m proud of Lil C:

• She has stellar table manners. . .

• She is a very neat eater. . .

No, really. . .

• And then there’s this. . .

She’s blurry because she’s totally running. . . Yes, running.  Even having gorilla arms can’t help my back now.   I’m also super proud of her because she did the first baby sign back to me this week.  For weeks I’ve been doing the signs for "more" (pointer finger taps middle of palm) and "all done" (arm waves side to side).  I know some of you probably think I’m nuts, but I’m not teaching her ASL.  I’m teaching her baby signs and I firmly believe it is THE reason why Big I did not really have any temper issues, at least not during the early years.  It also is less frustrating for me while I’m trying to figure out if she’s cranky because she wants another bite or if she’s cranky because she wants me to take that bite and shove it.  She let me know that it was the latter this week, and for that I am both proud and thankful.  It saves us both the frustration of not knowing.  It’s also super cute to see her start doing the signs back at you. 

Reasons why I love this place (my vacation place):

• Lighthouses. . . one of my favorite things.

• and then there’s this. . .

Mommy’s don’t get sick days

Getting caught up on my blog reading?  No.  Practicing my kata?  No.  Getting ready for testing?  No.  Why, you ask?  I’m sick.  Sick. Sick. Sick.  I have some sort of summer flu, complete with a fever (which is finally backing the hell off as of this afternoon), awful body aches, a killer headache, and swollen glands that are killing my throat.  I got back from vacation Saturday night, had two days to get back to normal, and then I was hit with this.  Fun.  The thing that’s really fun?  Lil C is standing up EVERYWHERE, and she’s not exactly what you would call stable.  I am a human shadow, a sick human shadow.  I don’t have any family members who don’t work; and I don’t have a babysitter I can call to take care of the munchkins.  I am seriously pining for the school-aged sick days, when my Mom would fix me soup and bring me drinks every hour on the hour, get me tissues, keep things quiet, etc. etc. etc. so I could rest.   Ahhh, the school-aged sick days, full of morning talk shows, followed by Gilligan’s Island and then an afternoon of soaps, followed by Oprah.  I miss those days.  A lot.

So, I emailed my karate school and told them I wouldn’t be in class because I’m sick and my instructor emailed me back to say that I should try to make it in this week because it’s pre-testing.  WHAT???????  PRE-TESTING!!!!!  That means that testing is not four weeks away.  That means that it is either this week or next.  Where did I lose those weeks?  How will I EVER be ready?  Unless I find a print out of my weapons kata, I am in big fat trouble.  Also, for this testing, we have to do break-falls (which means, throw yourself on the ground without getting hurt, if that’s possible).  Break-falls with a flu-ridden body.  Yeah.  So. Not. Happening.  I am hoping I can postpone my testing for a week or two, so I don’t have to wait until September.  I don’t want to get behind.  I spent enough time getting behind while at home with Lil C in those early post-birth months. 

I’m going to make a little prediction here. . . as soon as I start feeling well enough to work on my kata, one or both (most likely both) of my girls will come down with my little summer flu.  As far as that kata update I promised. . . we’re at a stand still people.  A big sick unhappy stand still.  This Mommy needs to call off work, but just can’t.  And in case you weren’t already convinced of it. . . Yes, I am feeling sorry for myself. 

I

This post brought to you courtesy of the Outer Banks Emergency Room

I have a new theory on the little girl who starred in the movie "The Exorcist."  Little Reagan was not possessed by the devil. . . she ate some bad scallops. 

Last night we ate dinner at a restaurant we’ve been eating at every time we come here on vacation.  I had a seafood combo dinner consisting of broiled scallops and a crab cake.  About 20 minutes after finishing my dinner, my stomach blew up like I was 5 months pregnant.  The pressure, the bloating, the nausea was terrible.  When we returned to the beach house I went to bed, knowing that I was going to be having some problems as the evening wore on.  I had no idea.

I believe it was around 11 p.m. when the first unbearable abdominal pains sent me running doubled over to the bathroom.  People, it wasn’t pretty.  Still, I felt a little better and tried to go back to sleep.  I was woken up about 45 minutes later by worse cramps and extreme nausea.  This time, my body was nice enough to give me one end at a time to deal with; the next time I wasn’t so lucky. 

The third time I was barely able to make the switch in time.  The fourth time. . . it was either barf in the jacuzzi tub, on the floor, or throw everything out of the trash can and use that.  I chose the latter.  This time, my digestive tract rebelled with such force against the offending foods of earlier that evening, that I believe I may have levitated off the toilet.  See where I’m going with this whole exorcist thing?

After the fourth episode, I could not stand up for fear that I was going to pass out and hit my head on the ceramic tile.  I began calling for my husband who was doing a stand up job with Lil C, who did not want to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch.  I contemplated asking him to just put me out of my misery and snap my neck or something. Instead, I asked for my Mom, who was sleeping upstairs in the bedroom, unaware that her first born was being possessed by some bad seafood. 

My Mom showed up in the bathroom, then left to get my dad.  I took a few minutes to lie down on the cold ceramic tile before finding my flip-flops and purse.  My parents drove me to the Emergency Room at around 2:30 a.m.  They showed me to a room in the ER and I covered up with a blanket and tried to sleep.  I was alternating between hot and cold at the beach house; but the ER was freezing. 

And then it appeared I was hallucinating, because a Dr. McPhearson came into my room and leaned in close beside me and asked me how I was feeling.  I’ve got two words for you: Mc Dreamy.  Yes, I said it.  I’m a Gray’s Anatomy fan and I had my own McDreamy last night.  If there was one good thing about showing up in the ER with food poisoning and probably bits of puke in my hair, it was him.

He checked me out, verified my suspicions of a bad case of food poisoning, and ordered IV fluids and some anti-nausea drug called Zofran, which was amazing.  He said it was a good thing I came to the hospital because I was extremely dehydrated and my heart rate was not good because of it.  I told him that if I wasn’t married and didn’t have puke breathe (despite brushing my teeth 4000 times), I would totally kiss him. 

After some rest and a bag of IV fluids I was discharged. The discharging nurse told me to come back to the gift shop during the day so I could buy one of their t-shirts that says, "I spent my Outer Banks vacation in the ER."  I got home around 4 a.m. feeling a little better and went to bed.  Today, I have spent the day resting and trying to ward off a killer headache and body aches.  I feel like I did about 8 million crunches.  Who needs pilates when you can have food poisoning?  Nothing quite tones the body like violent heaving.

My husband and daughters have had a real bonding day, because I have been too weak to hold Lil C for any length of time. I am hoping I feel better tomorrow so I can enjoy the rest of this vacation and stop feeling like a train ran over me.

Tune in later this week for the post titled: 101 reasons I will NEVER eat scallops again.  I’ll give you a hint.  All 101 reasons have to do with varying degrees of severe bodily functions.  I seriously don’t wish food poisoning on anyone.  O.k., maybe Osama Bin Laden, but that’s it.

End of Week One Vacation Recap & Injury Report

Tonight is our last night in the hotel. Tomorrow we move to the beach house for a week.  I’ve spent the night packing up all of our stuff.  (I think I’ve added another vacation manager job requirement.)  By the way, thanks to all applicants; but unfortunately I highly doubt I’d be able to pay what a good vacation manager would deserve, so until I win the PowerBall, I’ll have to suffer on my own.

Since this marks the end to the first week, I think it’s only appropriate to give a brief run down of the weeks main events (and injuries).

Me:  Concussion from beginning of trip head injury is healing nicely.  (I don’t really have a concussion, but the headache was wicked for a good day and a half).  Now I am recovering from a bruised hip and knee.  Both injuries came from different instances.  The bruised hip came from carrying way too many things, including Lil C which resulted in me trying to use my right hip to catch a heavy door from closing.  Metal door knobs do not feel good on hip bones.  Not at all.  I should know this considering the fact that my body has been designed so that my hip bones are always at the exact height of counters, door knobs, etc. since the ripe old age of about 13.  So, what’s one more bruising encounter right?  I’ll live. 

The knee injury is more interesting.  I haven’t driven a go-cart for years.  I haven’t made a habit of driving them since the last time that I rode them with the male members of my immediate and extended family.  We, as families go, are pretty competitive; as in, out for blood even if it’s a just an innocent game of Scrabble.  My Dad thinks nothing of running people off the track or giving them a little tap at just the right angle so as to send people into a tailspin.  Of course he always apologizes after the fact, but it’s not pretty.  My Dad must always win; I must always win; my husband must always win because he is now related to me and it’s contagious, this competitive nature of ours.  We can’t all win, but we’re all willing to get bloody trying.

So, Big I was determined to get me to ride a go-cart with her the other night.  They had both single and double carts.  How could I say no?  My parents stood by with Lil C and my husband, daughter and I went for a ride. My dad whispered some tidbits of winning advice before I stood in line.  "Don’t let your foot off the gas," he whispered.  He started to tell me something else, but I cut him off. "Dad, I’m your daughter, remember?  It’s in the blood."  He smiled a knowing smile.  I went off to make him proud. 

The whistle blew and Big I and I tore out of the starting lane.  We made it about a half lap around the track when I must have just tapped the side of the raceway.  Another car was on my tail, tapped the back of the car, and then t-boned us.  We were stuck, and because I didn’t have my left leg all the way down in the go-cart (I have ridiculously long legs.) my knee slammed into the steering wheel when we got t-boned.  The race car supervisor guy had to come over and move our go-cart out so we could get going again.  I knew he was probaby thinking it so I said it for him, "Damn women drivers."  He stopped rolling his eyes for a moment and cracked up laughing.  Twenty laps later, Big I and I had won, beating nine other cars.  Who cares that all the other cars got one lap up on us while we were being removed from our t-bone position on the race track?  If I’m not racing, it’s a warm-up boys.  The race starts when I’m ready.  (We competitive people are also good at making up our own rules.)  All that really matters is that Big I was thrilled; and I made my Dad proud, what with my skilled passing techniques and the fact that I not once let up on the gas.

After climbing out of the go-cart, I noticed my knee: two little cuts and an area that would surely hurt the next day.  Today is that next day and I was right.  Ouch.  My one cut has a nice black and blue mark under it; but it was worth it. 

Mr. B:  Sprained ankle that is swollen to cartoon character proportions, which he obtained when jumping into 4′ deep pool water is the shape of a cannonball.  Yes, he is 33 years old; yes, he is 6’3"; yes, I said cannonball.  Despite him being a valedictorian, he does occasionally have a dense moment or two.  This was certainly one of them.  He’s hoping he can hobble around well enough to play tennis during this second beach week.  It’s nothing short of an all out tournment competition when it comes to my family, vacation, and tennis so he better just suck it up. 

Big I:  Despite nothing less than at least 30 SPF, Big I has a lovely case of what we think is sun poisoning on her cheek.  I have rashy children.  They are always coming up with some weird skin issue that sends me googling all kinds of strange things, before calling the pediatrician convinced they have measles or mumps or something worse.  No matter how much sunscreen I used as a kid, I used to get sun poisoning, or "sun bumps" as I affectionately called them.  It appears that Big I will have yet another reason to sue us some day for not having genetic counseling before deciding to bring her into this world.  The poor kid has red bumps on her one cheek; red bumps that hydro-cortisone, benadryl (liquid and cream), and cool compresses won’t take away completely.  She doesn’t have a spot of sunburn and hasn’t all week despite a beautiful beach week and tons of hours outside.  This child’s body is just determined to make me stress about something at all times. 

Lil C:  This child has not a single injury, sun bump, or problem to report.  She has been the perfect little beach bum.  She’s on a better schedule here than she is on at home.  At soon as she hears the ocean waves each day, she falls asleep.  She wakes up ready to walk with our help in the sand and waves.  She has been a perfect little angel at each meal, sitting in her high chair, people watching and trying to make friends.  We are learning that she is quite the little social butterfly.  She has been enjoying swimming in the pool, floating around in her baby float, and doesn’t even complain that much when we put sunscreen on her, as long as we give her what we call "contraband," as in anything that she’s not supposed to have such as TV remote controls or a toy that would make Big I just scream because Lil C is "not ‘apposed to have it."  Lil C has been such a dream child here that I am totally plugging in that ocean sounds thing I have at home, the minute we walk in the door.  At least one of us is happy and 100% healthy.

My Dad:  I may have neglected to mention that my parents are on vacation with us this week and next.  They have been a HUGE help to us since they are completely up for building sandcastles for 12 hours straight; and they don’t have a problem with the fact that it takes us four hours to be ready to go out to dinner. 

My Dad decided to pay the fitness room a visit a few days ago and hasn’t been the same since.  Blame it on that competitive gene I suppose, but the man ran on the treadmill on a serious incline and pounded away until he had hurt his back so badly that he can’t tolerate standing for very long stretches.  It’s also made it kind of hard for him to give airplane rides to the girls, which has been disappointing to all of us, but mostly to a 40-something lb. Big I.  He is also hoping he’ll be able to play tennis this week.  I’m slightly annoyed with the fact that he’s injured because now, even if I do beat him in tennis this week, there will be a built in excuse as to why.  So frustrating. 

Back aside, the most startling injury comes from what we can only believe is biting fly venom.  Today, the winds were blowing from the west, which meant that the biting flies were coming off of the sand dunes and onto the beach.  If you’ve ever had an encouter with one of these flies, you know they hurt and badly.  We quickly packed up and headed off to the pool today to avoid the little buggers.  My Mom followed us.  My Dad decided to tough it out.  A few hours later, after he had not joined us at the pool, my Mom went looking for him.  She found him on the beach, wearing his flip flops on his hands, swatting wildly at the flies as fellow beach-goers watched in awe.  The cooler which contained their drinks. . . nothing short of a bloody battle ground, one that ended in a fly massacre with the score being Man: 30. Fly: 1.  It only took one bite to send my Dad into a fly killing frenzy.  My Mom said he probably provided good entertainment on the beach today: the crazy man killing flies with a vengence. 

My Mom:  Like Lil C, my Mom has remained injury free, besides the occasional sore back from holding an 18.5 lb. grand-daughter on a fairly regular basis. Come to think of it, maybe she has orchestrated this all, in an attempt to be the best tennis player of us all. . .

Probably not though.

I will sign off on this final night of what I’ll call "the relaxing part of the vacation."  Our beach house week, which starts tomorrow, tends to be full of hours of slamming tennis in 90 degree heat, ocean kayaking beside the dolphins, beach volleyball where the object is as much to take an opponents head off as it is to win, power walks on the beach, and vicious card games.  The injury recap at the end of next week with surely be littered with black and blues. 

Thanks to all of you for your comments (and your patience in waiting for them to appear.)  When I return from vacation, I promise to turn back into the addicted blog reader that I am and catch up on all my regular reads and a few news ones whose writers have been stopping by here. 

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