Don’t I Get Ice Cream for That?

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A few weeks ago I went to the Emergency Room, twice in 3 days. One day was the morning I was to leave on an overnight with Mr. Who for our 5th anniversary, and the other was the morning I was to go to see “Night Under Fire” at the racetracks.

It all started with Twin Ick.

Both the Who Twins had croup within a few days of each other. It sounded like the seal den at Sea World with all the barking around here from those two. Twin A refused to take medicine. There was no liquid I could hide it in. I begged, cajoled, cried, pleaded, and (I’m ashamed to admit it) threatened to take Blankie away if he didn’t take it. That just made him cry and bark more.

He needed Motrin, so we had to do it the old-fashioned way. And when I say we I mean Mr. Who, and when I say old-fashioned, I mean up the wahoo…(I hope “wahoo” is a universal term, or there might be some serious misunderstandings).

Turns out Wahoo medicine doesn’t hurt at all, and Twin A kinda grew to like it. Now we’ve created a Wahoo monster. It’s ok for now, but I’m not doing it when he’s a teenager.

I have limits.

Twin B drinks his juice so often and so quickly, I could probably hide a bowl of mac-n-cheese in it and he wouldn’t know, or care.  So he was not a lucky recipient of the Wahoo medicine.

They finally got better, then yours truly starts feeling it. Not the croup, although, that would have been interesting as a 42 year old.  I would have totally taped myself barking like a seal.

I thought at first it was allergies. I CANNOT be getting sick. I have been waiting for this anniversary trip for 364 days. Monday, I’m feeling “eh”. Tuesday I’m feeling: “ehhhhhh”, and Wednesday morning, the morning of the trip, I couldn’t swallow and somehow Khan snuck into my home and shoved 18,000 earwigs into my ears.

“KHAAAAAAAAAAN!”

The PAIN! Oh. Em. Gee. It hurt so bad. I was scared to swallow, but was so thirsty. I wanted to drink a gallon of water. I never want to drink a gallon of water until I can’t.  Swallowing hurt and I ached from head to toe. Like ran over with a truck, then run over by a steamroller, then used as a flyswatter by Godzilla. I crawled into the ER, begging for relief. You know what they gave me at the hospital?

NOTHING.

Where were my painkillers? My saline? My antibiotic??

I got nothing but one little nausea pill and a few to take home.

B-words…

So I went home, and somehow after a few hours of back and forth got Mr. Who to take me away anyway. I mean, come on, would you rather get over something HUGE like Pharyngitis (yeah, apparently we have pharnyxes) alone or with kids jumping on you?

So we went, watched a lot of movies and I started feeling better.

Then came Saturday morning where my ears hurt again so bad, I was begging for the olden days of 18,000 earwigs. I drive myself to the ER, stumbled in, and whispered: “please help me, I’m going to throw up”…Just so you know, when “vomit” is mentioned, the nice nurses in triage take you in much faster.

THIS ER doctor couldn’t BELIEVE the other one sent me home without an antibiotic since I had a raging case of…

Wait for it…

Tonsillitis.

But not really, because my tonsils weren’t really swollen, there was just nothing else to call it. It was a mystery.

So yes, I, CarrieLouWho, aged 42, went to the ER twice for tonsillitis.

Who goes to the ER for that??? Me.

I missed Night Under Fire.

And I couldn’t even eat any ice cream.

 

My Child Ate the Class Pet

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Ok, he didn’t actually eat the class pet, more like just bit off its nose…

And it wasn’t really a class pet in the “OMG! CarrieLouWho’s child ate a living, breathing animal!” sense…

But it was still something that Twin A will need to explain  to the class.

The kids in the class each get a day to take home the class pet, play with it, and then using the first person, write in the class pet book what the pet did that night. Twin B got to take him home first, where the pet was held, carried, and treated more delicately and gently than I did with them as babies.

The next day Twin A got to take him home.

What happened next, I take almost all the blame.

You see, 4 year olds can take things literally. Because they are 4.

I, jokingly, said we were going to cut up the class pet and make burgers out of it. I said it would taste delicious. I laughed and giggled, and told them what kind of condiments I would put on it and everything.

I did this. Me.

Next thing I know, Twin A comes running to me telling me that he ate part of the pet. He showed me where he brutally and gleefully gnawed on it, and like Hannibal Lecter, spit out the flap of meat onto the counter.

I was horrified! How was I going to explain this to the teacher?? To his classmates?? Having been a teacher prior to the twins, I shook my head and sadly said: “Oh, man, you’re going to spend so many days in the principal’s office.”

I took the pet away, and my son, the one who JUST ATE PART OF THE PET, called ME a “jerk”!  He said I was mean, and he didn’t like me anymore, and I was a “jerky buttfaced poo-poo head”… it was pretty funny, I admit.

I told the teacher this morning, who giggled, and assured me she had a bunch of pets, and the kids would never know…yeah, except I wrote about the whole thing in the Pet Diary!

It went something like this:

“At Twin A’s house I got to play outside, go down the slide, and had fun. Then Twin A’s mom said I would taste good on a bun with mustard and Twin A took her seriously. It hurt a little when he bit off a chunk of my nose, but his mom promised she would pay for my surgery.”

I took a picture for posterity, and also for high school graduation purposes, you can see the top of the nose floating in there all lonely and sad:

photoWe’re definitely not going to let him take home anything alive for awhile…

 

I Regressed to a Small Child in the Middle of the Night

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So, there I was, snuggled under the covers, in my usual left-side-fetal-position, head resting delicately on my silken pillow, hands pressed together under my left cheek, lips parted slightly…I was the epitome of Sleeping Beauty.

Eh, who am I kidding? I was tangled up in the sheets (of which I had hogged and with them somehow only covering my left arm and right leg), spread-eagle face up, head between two pillows, mouth opened wide, and with drool…lots of drool. Like more drool than the Who Twins combined in their first year.

I woke up to a strange sound – probably my gasping snores from apparently trying to suffocate myself in the pillow sandwich – and in my half alerted state became fearful.

You see, my left leg was hanging off the bed.  Panicking, I slowly, painstakingly, and deliberately moved my left leg back on the bed.

Because we all know that the thing under the bed cannot grab you if your leg is on the bed.

These are the rules.

Now that my limb was safe from the “under the bed monster”, I looked up and what I saw scared the BeJesus out of me…and we all know how hard it is for the BeJesus to come out. My ceiling fan shadow, in the glow of the baby monitor, took on the shape of a ginormous tarantula/Mothra hybrid and was directly over top of me.

(And, no, I didn’t eat Ben & Jerry’s last night)

When I realized what the shadow was I smiled in relief, but it was brief, as the fish took yet ANOTHER opportunity to have a fish fight and the sloshing of water made my stomach feel like I was going down the world’s fastest rollercoaster with no seatbelts.

This is not my night, because then I notice a strange shadow in the hallway. It moved slightly back and forth. In my astigmatismic haze I could not make out the shape, but it seemed to have noticed me.

I did what any self preservationist would do, and slowly covered my face with the sheet. Because if you can’t see IT, then IT can’t see you.

These are the rules.

(It wasn’t until morning did I remember that I put an oscillating fan in the hallway. A big, scary CarrieLouWho eating monster fan.)

But still, because of the rules I was still safe from anything that might have thought I tasted like chicken.

CarrieLouWho – protein choice of monsters everywhere!

 

 

WOW, There IS an APP for That!

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So, I have decided to get with the 20th century and get me an iPhone.

(wait, what? It’s the 21st century? Man, it’s worse than I thought!) 

Nothing fancy, just the cheapest (read : free) one Verizon had at the store. So I am now the proud owner of an iPhone 4.

AND I’M LIKE A CAVEMAN WITH FIRE!

Not a GEICO caveman either, but one of the grunty kinds.

I now have personal understanding to the woes of AutoCorrect.  I always wondered why people didn’t just check before sending until I sent my son a text that said: “He drunken chicken Rudolph” instead of “Hey, dinner’s ready!” (and yes, I text him from the 1st floor because I’m old and creaky).

The Verizon guy was quick to inform me that it wasn’t actually a “phone” per se, but rather a little teeny, tiny laptop. Translation: you can’t always make calls or texts when you absolutely need to, but you CAN play Candy Crush.

(Priorities, people! I need my damn CANDY!)

I immediately take my teeny, tiny computer home and find every app I already have on my laptop and download it. While doing so, I was taken away into the app abyss with the millions of possibilities of things to add to my phone. I couldn’t believe what I found. Here’s a list of MUST HAVE apps that you didn’t know you needed!

1.  “Haircaster” will give you the weather conditions of the day, such as humidity and temperature so you know if you’re going to have a good hair day, bad hair day, or a CarrieLouWho hair day which consists of sweaty bangs in the front, and a rat’s nest in the back.

2. “Run and Pee” tells you the best time during a movie to take a potty break. I could have used this during any one of the Lord of the Rings movies.

3. Did you hear a knock and no one is there? Does the hair on the back of your neck stand up when you walk by that creepy picture of your great-great-great-great Aunt Esmerelda? You need “Ghost Radar” (Legacy or Classic) to detect paranormal readings around you. Don’t be fooled by gimmicky apps, though, because this one is the best.

4. Are you a new parent, and cannot figure out why your baby is crying NOW? Download “Cry Translator” for help. (Because every baby has the same cry, donchaknow?)

Now this last app I’m going to share with you was found by typing in a bunch of random things to see if I got a bite, so please to enjoy:

5. “Ace Ear Hair Plucking Salon – Princess kids games for boys and girls”, guaranteed great ear hair plucking practice for the kiddoes when they retire.

I’m almost giddy with the choices.

There really IS an app for everything.

 

 

 

Death by Suffocation – Aquarium Edition

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We have the luxury of having a 90 gallon aquarium in our bedroom. It’s nice to watch the fish do their thing in the tank (except when they deliver waste everywhere, ’cause eww), and it is calming and relaxing.  We have watched these guys grow up for the last 2+ years, and it’s been neat.

We decided to pay them back by almost murdering them.

Not long ago, Mr. Who came in from mowing the Who grass, and was just about to finally sit down for the day when he noticed the fish were gasping. Like huge mouths open, heart clutching, “It’s the big one! I’m coming home to you, Elizabeth!”, kind of gasping.

Eyes were bulging even more than normal, they were barely moving, and the mean one I call “Grandpa” who usually yells at all the other fish to “git off my property!” was seeking comfort from his fellow gill-bearers. The catfish lost their appetites, and the plecostomus was perched like a beached whale on top of a rock, rather than licking the tank like usual. (It’s especially hysterical when he does his algae licking facing you so you can see that weird tongue thing moving around.)

Mr. Who tears off into the bedroom to grab the filter that had stopped and tore back into the kitchen to get everything ready to fix the tank. We had no idea how long the filter had been off. Of course, in his haste he spilled carbon everywhere (down the garbage disposal!) and had to start over again. He might have said a few bad words…

Meanwhile, I was in the bedroom nervously wringing my hands and tapping on the glass whenever one started dipping scarily low to the bottom. I was cheering them on: “Don’t die on me now!” The poor little fish kept going up to the very top to grab an air bubble or two.

My favorite fish, who I named “Cher” as she is pink and sparkly and fabulous was staring at me through the tank. I got real close, and softly sang: “Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming” to which she looked at me in disgust and went over to hang with Grandpa. She obviously hasn’t seen “Nemo”.

At one point, everyone got very still. It was eerie, like when the birds stop singing before a storm. I yelled: “LIVE, DAMMIT, LIVE!” causing Mr. Who, who was running back in the room, to ponder calling me an ambulance.

The next 20 minutes as the water was drained and put back in were tense. They were very lethargic by this time, and I worried it was too late. They might all have brain damage and spend the next hours of their life banging into each other.

But soon, life began to come back into the fish. I swear Cher had turned a boring salmon color at one point, but now her sparkles were coming back. Grandpa was pushing all the kids away from his space, and the tin foil barbs went back to being the tools they usually were.

Mr. Who saved the day, thank goodness. I had grown attached to the fish. Which is weird since they don’t talk, cuddle, go for walks, play with toys, or do anything remotely sociable.

But I swear, they still gaze warily at me from time to time… they must have heard about us filling in the goldfish pond out back, and no one has heard from the goldfish since…

Dun, dun, dunnnnnn…

 

“The Last of Us” is an Oscar Worthy video game

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I lucked out with Mr. Who in the TV watching and video game department. We like all the same shows, mostly the same movies (although I like mine a little more Blood Light), and he rarely ever channel surfs. On the rare occasions when he does, it’s almost guaranteed he will stop to watch “Cops”. He also only plays video games when I suggest it.

Not in the :”I, CarrieLouWho, grant thee, thine peasant, permission to playeth yon game” kind of way. More of a: “Sorry, babe, I can’t watch TV tonight, I have to work. It’s a video game night for you”.  He will then sigh a deep, sad, fake sigh, kick an empty pop can across the floor, and with his manly shoulders hanging dejectedly will say “okay, I guess so”, then run to find the controller.

While working from home has its perks, I need more hours to do it.  The 3 hours a morning the kids are in preschool are helpful, but not enough to get everything accomplished.  On top of work, I’m taking a graduate class to renew my teaching license. While at this moment in time, thanks to the twins’…er…energy… I cannot imagine going back into a classroom full of MORE kids, but I’m renewing just in case. So I have to continue work after the kids go to bed, which is probably not productive as I am extremely tired, and very stupid by then.

But still, I get to sit close to my Mr. Who on the couch and write stuff while he kills stuff. He usually plays epic games like Final Fantasy or Skyrim, but has lately been playing “The Last of Us”. This game is a Walking Dead kind of game, but there is a girl who could possibly cure the contagion that has spread around the world. It’s Mr. Who’s job to escort her across the country, while fighting awful not-infected people, cannibals, and zombies.

While I sit there listening, I’m struck by how awesome the script is. The voice acting is really good, and it seems more realistic than other games we have seen. At one point, a man had to kill his own infected brother, then kills himself from grief (and possibly a brother bite, not sure). The music swells, the characters scream, it’s so sad, and very intense. I know intense. I was once at the very, very, very last level of Sonic the Hedgehog on Sega Genesis with only 1 life left when Teen Who, who was about 3 at the time, tripped over the cord and unplugged the game from the wall.

This was before memory cards. But I’m not bitter. I just like to remind Teen Who about it once a week or so. (For the last 14 years).

As far as the Last of Us, Mr. Who might not know it, but a few times I watched, I MIGHT have had a few tears well up from the story. I don’t want to CRY at a video game, dangit. I’m more of a God of War girl. I want weapons, and I want to kill stuff. I want to kill bad guys quickly, and with fire whips. That’s how I roll.

The Last of Us, should definitely be made into a movie, it’s that good to watch. Hopefully Mr. Who won’t beat it too quickly, so I can watch more of it.

And yes, you read that right, no memory cards! How did we live???

I Started a Contagion

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Mr. Who and I have killed hundreds, possibly thousands. Selfishly, gleefully, and more than once.  We have poisoned, maimed, and lured many of the unsuspecting to their deaths.

In our defense, they entered our home without permission, and the police are no help.  They do not care that hundreds of sugar ants have committed a home invasion.

In the winter. In  Ohio. What self-respecting ant comes out of their warm abodes in -10 degree weather? They deserve their little ant fates.

Mr. Who and I use the tried and true Terro Ant Killer for our little friends. They are attracted to the delicious Borax laden liquid and before they are slowly killed, they take it back to the colony to share it with their besties. It works well, and 2 days later our kitchen infestation is over.

It reminds me of the movies Outbreak, Quarantine, and Contagion. I can’t help but wonder what it was like in the colony when the ants come back with their infectious, little ant selves.  Here they are, the best of the best, sent out by their leaders to find some food. The starving colony anxiously awaits their return. Wife ants hold their baby ants close while waving goodbye to their heroic husband ants.

Then they return. But they are not the same. They are Dead Ants Walking.

One by one, they start acting strange, coughing a lot, sneezing uncontrollably, high fever, aches, chills, etc. Doctor ants are perplexed, and the ant hospitals are gaining more patients by the hour.  Other ants that touch those that came back from beyond are getting sick, too. Slowly they die, one by one.  The CoD (Center of Death) cannot pinpoint the origins, and soon they die, too.

They will never know that it was I, CarrieLou Who, like the rhesus monkey, the plague ravaged rat, and the guano infected banana eating piglet, who started the Contagion.

I’d like to say I’d never do it again, but I hate those freakin’ things.

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