February 28, 2006

My Lousy Friend

Recently one of my close friends was afraid that one of her boys had lice. A note had come home from school stating that lice were going around and instructing parents to examine their kids for signs of infestation. My friend realized that one of her sons had been scratching his head a lot, so she combed through his hair and to put it delicately, things were amiss. She saw a little dirt in his hair (hair that she washes every night with Publix Tear-Free shampoo), and then she thought she saw what appeared to be an albino flea scurrying between his flaxen locks.

She’d never heard of an albino flea before, but who is to say they do not exist? There are albino people and snakes, so surely albino fleas are not out of the realm of possibility. Furthermore, that particular child had been cuddling with the flea-ridden devil-mutt a lot,
so the albino flea theory made more sense than the fact that her sanitary son might have lice. At any rate, she did not have much time to make a diagnosis because the carpool came at that moment, so she shooed the boys out the door and decided to do some further research.

First my friend re-read the letter from the school. It attempted to placate nervous parents by stating that having lice “is very common in schools and it has become widespread in the past few years. It is not considered a sign of uncleanliness or
neglect.” However, it also stressed that if “tiny, white egg cases” were found on a child’s head, he or she “may not return to school until they have been treated.”

She relaxed a bit. She had not seen anything that could be described as a “white egg case,” whatever that was. However, there was no denying that she had seen something unusual on her child’s head, so she decided to investigate further.

My friend found herself in an odd situation. Up until now, she had felt free to call up her friends and ask advice about all sorts of personal issues without fear of being judged. How soon did you start having sex after you had the baby? Am I the only woman not using a Rabbit vibrator? Does this skirt look expensive, or can you tell it came from Target? Can you get your husband to tell my husband that his vasectomy was painless? Is it illegal to take a Darvocet before I get a bikini wax?

This topic, however, was off limits. She felt that if she asked even the most innocuous questions about lice, people might immediately suspect her of harboring vermin and wonder whether she was truly devoted to maintaining a hygienic household. She hated to call the pediatrician; during flu season it was the most sociable place in town. She’d probably run into everyone she knew, and they’d ask why she was there, and it would be uncomfortable for everyone.

So my friend turned to Google, and her albino flea theory was shot to hell. Her son had lice.

On the up side, the article she located about lice had a pleasingly supercilious tone, suggesting that parents and school administrators who try to isolate lice-ridden children are usually overreacting. It emphasized that the appearance of lice was not a sign of neglect. Some parts of the article were unintentionally humorous, as when the authors noted that the presence of a few lice provides the parent with a welcome
opportunity to spend some quality time with her child, cuddling him and picking nits out of the hair. That was certainly putting a positive spin on the situation.

So that evening, my friend treated her son with some lice shampoo, and then they snuggled in front of the TV, watching American Idol, admiring Ace’s cool shirts and cheering for Chris and Taylor. She divided his hair into sections and combed each section carefully with two different types of special combs.

Eventually the show was over but the combing was nowhere near done. At this point my friend tried to draw on the “perseverance and levity” the authors recommended as part of the lice treatment. It was one thing to comb nits and egg cases while watching TV on a school night, but now that it was past time the child went to bed, the endless combing was cutting into the precious hours she had left to finish the fascinating article on homing pigeons she had been reading in the The New Yorker. My good friend finally finished with the offending son’s head, and sent him off to bed. The next day she gave each of her other kids a prophylactic shampoo treatment. For now, her home is lice-free.

Will you keep her dirty secret? I wouldn’t want her to be shunned at Jazzercise.

February 27, 2006

Movin’ On Down– From The De-Luxe Apartment In The Sky

Everyone knows that kids change your entire life, but I had no idea that my standard of living had declined so precipitously until I visited my youngest sister in New York this weekend. She and her husband don’t have children yet. Her home was a sparkling haven of cleanliness and
unscratched adult furnishings.

I’d had some clues that her living conditions were considerably tidier than mine. Last fall she came to visit and saw my “dining room” completely covered in laundry baskets. While she was extremely polite when she inquired about it, her expression made it clear that she thought I was one step away from being the kind of person who sticks a rotting sofa on the front porch next to the rusty washing machine to provide a comfy place to sit while you drink sweet tea and watch the cars drive by.

I got to her apartment while she was still at work. Usually when I get to the city I have a gazillion places I want to go, but this time I walked in her front door and stopped, gasping in delight. No crumbs. Not a Lego in sight. There were tasteful decorative items everywhere– some even on the very low coffee table, which had sharp corners and a finish that would retain water stains within seconds of a glass being placed on it without a coaster. I wandered around and admired the pristine surfaces and the unstained furniture.

Her house could not have been more different than mine. Out of lawyerly habit, I immediately wrote the following memo:

A COMPARISON OF THE DECORATIVE HABITS OF CHILD-FREE VS. CHILD-REARING NATIVES OF AMERICA

ISSUE: Do women with children and those without display contrasting techniques in maintaining their houses?

SHORT ANSWER: Yes.

1) Bathroom Maintenance

The sinks dotted with globs of blue toothpaste, sloppily hung towels, and bathing facilities filled with plastic toys tend to be found primarily in the homes of those with children of six months and older. In contrast, child-free homeowners are able to hang unstained, beautifully monogrammed towels symmetrically under breakable art. Their showers often hold a plethora of fancy shampoos, such as Kerastase or Bumble & Bumble, and expensive body washes, which are used only for proper washing and not for creating bubble baths for Lego ships to sail through. I could locate no instances in which a child-free couple had entered the bathroom to find pee on the wall, a dog in the bathtub or water being squirted about the room through a bicycle pump.

Exhibit A: Bathroom With Two Folded Towels: NYC (clean white towels and art); Glamore House (towels hung by Drew and Porter without being asked)

Exhibit B: Shower In Its Natural State: NYC (Bain Mousse Body Wash); Glamore House (Publix Tear-Free Baby Shampoo and Playmobil pirate ship)

Exhibit C: Bathroom Sink: NYC (Linden hand wash); Glamore House (Colgate SpongeBob Bubble Fruit toothpaste)

2) Living Areas

Living areas also differed markedly between the two groups. I photographed two sections of rug in each abode at random, and found a great difference in the quality, style, and most obviously, the cleanliness of the carpets being examined.

Exhibit D: Sample Swatch of Carpet: NYC (colorful and clean); Glamore House (dirty sock, quarter, string, mud stain under sock)

The kitchen facilities were also dissimilar. The child-free couple had sanitary counters with a high quality espresso maker in good working order, Tabasco in a silver holder, and ornamental china immediately under the cabinet where the glasses are stored.

The other house’s counters were crumb-covered, and the crumbs did not appear to be of recent vintage. A well-used sponge and an old package of hot dog buns provided the only counterpoint to the sturdy coffee maker. There were no breakable items in this location, as this counter is also under the cabinet where glasses are kept, and thus boys frequently climb on it as they attempt to quench their thirst.

Exhibit E: Coffee Stations: NYC (Illy espresso pods); Glamore House (Kellogg’s Raisin Bran, old shredded cheddar)

3) Work Areas

As expected, the work areas in the two residences also varied in tidiness, organization, and overall ambiance. The exhibits should suffice to make this point.

Exhibit F: Office Areas: NYC (sleek Mac, corkboard and fancy thumbtacks); Glamore house (tepid water, notes and drafts, expired passport)

4) Individual Touches

The child-free residence featured some aspects that would be completely inappropriate in a child-filled home. To wit:

Exhibit F: Items peculiar to NYC home (green marble dog holding a dish of chocolates, the number of which never diminished; fragile shells in delicate bowl on coffee table, at the approximate height of a ten month old who can pull up; this ornamental display should be recategorized as an attractive nuisance once the home is invaded by little ones)

Similarly, there were numerous small bits of detritus strewn about the Glamore home which served no purpose whatsoever, but which were loudly proclaimed to be valuable commodities when the mother picked them up and walked toward the trashcan with them. I also documented a higher activity level in the house with children, including the invention of the “Bicycle Pump That Washes the Shower” which was invented by the same boy who thought up “The Hat That Lets You Blow In Your Own Ear.”

Exhibit G: Unclothed Boy Demonstrates the Proper Use of the Bicycle Pump Shower Washer

Conclusion: While at the moment these two American women’s surroundings are drastically different, the New Yorker’s days living in a clean environment are numbered, as she recently peed on a stick and got a positive reading. My recommendation is that she examine this report carefully and adjust her surroundings and more important, her expectations, in order to conform with her new reality as illustrated by the Glamore household. She’ll be movin’ on down, but loving every minute of it.

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Many thanks to Miss Zoot for advice on lining up the pictures in this post– check out her cool boy and darling little girl at her site! Don’t miss the design page!

February 20, 2006

Free Burglar Alarm!

No monthly charges! No wires! No buttons to push and pesky codes to remember! Get rid of those annoying security lights!

This hardworking barkaholic mutt will sound off at anything that moves.

Free to good home, a reliable watchdog.

Item description: This mutt is extremely low maintenance. He does not need cuddling, and in fact, dislikes it. He does not require a comfy bed; he would rather sleep in the cold and rain, preferably on a hard surface. Gladly eats cheap food.

The free burglar alarm looks small and placid, but his small body hides a bloodthirsty soul. Despises mailmen, pest control men, UPS, FedEx and DHL men, all women. Hates children. Keep away from other pets, large and small. Sharp teeth which are able to pierce electronics (Exhibit 1, hard plastic (Exhibit 2) and flesh, without remorse. Deafening growl. Shrill, piercing bark that is immune to the best bark collars on the market today. Indestructible– frequently runs in the path of oncoming cars and always survives.

Also useful for keeping rooms clear of people with the reliable “Shit on Command” feature. (Exhibit 3) Simply let the dog into the room to be protected and he will take care of the rest. (Use caution; the “Shit on Command” feature cannot be turned off.)

Added bonus: Talented varmint catcher– keep prowlers away and simultaneously rid your surroundings of pesky critters.

Warning: Guaranteed to run the opposite way when called.

Exhibit 1: Chewed iPod ear buds

Exhibit 2: Chewed spinner from the Game of Life

Exhibit 3: Turd on carpet.

Extremely limited quanity! To get your free burglar alarm, leave a comment today! Free heartworm pills and brush included.

Just Breathe

When you have children, you assume that you will deal with your fair share of illnesses and trips to the hospital, especially in the first few years. That has certainly been true for us.

We’ve knocked out teeth. Finn had no front teeth from the time he was 18 months old until around first grade. One Christmas Porter knocked out two teeth moments after I had just snapped the boys’ picture in front of the Christmas tree. It was beautiful timing. (And the Tooth Fairy came; this was before she had turned into a slack-ass.)

We’ve gotten stitches. One particularly memorable day Porter got stitches in the morning and we held a guinea pig funeral that afternoon. The two events were not related.

We’ve dealt with the noxious fumes of rotavirus. (Or as I call it, “Germ Warfare in a Diaper.”) That’s when I learned the hard way to put stool specimens in a plastic bag, not a glass baby food jar. Shards of glass + diarrhea + crying baby = compulsory freakout by mom.

We’ve had dueling cases of croup. This came at an inopportune moment; the twins got croup the day after Bill’s vasectomy. Instead of nursing the family jewels as I had planned, I ended up alternately huddling with Drew in the steamy bathroom and then sticking Porter’s head in the freezer. Not only were Bill’s nuts neglected, but he was also forced to chat with Finn, who had only one line of questions on his mind: “Why does Daddy have ice on his willy? Did he hurt it? Can I see? Why won’t he ride his bike with me instead of just sitting on the sofa?”

We’ve defeated molloscum contagiosum, ear infections, and countless cuts, bumps and bleeding wounds. Now, however, the guys are older and have better immune systems. They’ve been pretty healthy lately except for the occasional concussion or skinned elbow. I’ve taught them to treat each other with hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin, so I don’t even need to be consulted on most mishaps. Consequently, over the last few months I had quit worrying about dread diseases and catastrophes, at least until it was time for the boys to get driver’s licenses.

I let down my guard too soon.

I was alone with the boys at the lake last weekend when I heard Finn call desperately, “Help me, Mom!” from the back bedroom. I rushed back there to find him clutching his chest and taking quick, shallow breaths. I got him onto the bed and felt his wrist. His heart was racing as well. As he lay back dizzily and closed his eyes, I thought his breathing was easing somewhat. Or was it? After a little observation and a phone consult with my pediatrician’s office, I ordered the twins to toss our clothes into the van while I roused Finn. We needed professional help.

He was getting lethargic, and I couldn’t budge him. I hadn’t realized until that moment that he’s so big I can’t move him alone. Drew materialized, asking, “What can I do to help you, Mommy?” in his quiet voice, and together we half walked and half dragged Finn to the car and shoved him in. We took him to the emergency room in the nearest town, which was thirty minutes away.

We checked in and the staff hustled us back to a room and put Finn on a monitor that showed he wasn’t oxygenating very well. After a breathing treatment he felt much better. Once we realized every thing was going to be okay, Drew, Porter and I took turns checking our own oxygen saturation levels, which were hovering satisfactorily in the high 90’s.

Finn has now seen his regular physician, who diagnosed a “reactive airway,” gave him an albuterol inhaler and sent him on to baseball practice. So our story has a happy ending, although I was reminded once again (as if I needed it) that once you think everything’s okay, all hell’s about to break loose, and there’s nothing you can do but take a deep breath and face it head on.

February 16, 2006

Shoot ‘Em Up!

I wasn’t much of a gun lover when I was a kid. As one of three sisters, we weren’t around guns very much, so I never developed an appreciation for them. I realize guns aren’t solely a manly thing; plenty of women enjoy firing off a round or two, sometimes while conducting other exhausting activities. Talk about multitasking.

Now that I have three boys and a husband who grew up hunting, BB guns have become somewhat of an obsession with the guys in my family, and Bill is happy to encourage them. During the last month they’ve bought a couple of guns and taken them out in the woods to shoot cans and paper targets.

Bill and the boys will leave, then several hours later they return, sweaty and excited, recounting the fabulous adventures they had tromping through the woods. Last weekend Drew claimed he saw a bird and “almost” hit it. I applauded his effort, although I’m glad he missed. I have no intention of cooking any birds, which the boys would certainly insist upon if they were to actually shoot some and bring them home. That seems to be part of the hunter-gatherer gene. Anyway, I can’t imagine that they’d eat them, even if I paired them with a friendly food and served up “Macaroni and Crow” or “Sparrow Spaghetti.”

Because I haven’t seen any results of their outings, the whole shooting thing has been a rather abstract concept to me. Two things happened in the last couple of days, however, that made me realize my children are firing real guns with actual bullets. First, on the way to church one night, the twins were discussing what they want to be when they grow up. Drew’s answer hasn’t changed in months: an artist. Porter usually wants to be an astronaut, but this time his answer startled me.

“I want to be a sniper,” he said nonchalantly, looking out the window.

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “Have you told anyone else that?”

“I wrote it in my journal today at school,” Porter said. “Miss Hunter asked me if I knew what a sniper was and I told her it was a man who gets on top of a high building with a gun and shoots bad people.”

So much for my plan to change his career path before anyone else could find out about it.

But I realized he’s already well on his way toward realizing his dream when I was cleaning out his pants pockets before I washed them:

Behold: two bullets sitting innocently with the usual marbles, coins, hickory nut and Legos.

Porter Glamore: future sniper?