Water Balloons and Hammocks

We knew something was up when Abby regressed into not having a "thing to wear" while her wardrobe is filled with the softest clothes this side of the Delaware River.

Andy thought of taking her temperature before I did.

103.9

Aha.  Why don't I ever think of that first?

We Tylenol'ed her right away and felt confident she would be feeling better in 20 minutes.

I took myself straight to Giant for chicken soup ingredients, frosting for a doll party Abby insisted on having, and TP.  Three hours later (Someone got carried away reading labels.), I came back home to find Abby's fever was worse, not better.

Andy was buzzing back and forth talking about emergency rooms and cold baths.  Poor man.  He lives with so much stress on his shoulders all the time and this surprise fever was not on his syllabus.  His motherboard short-circuited so I put grocery bags in his hand to calm him down.  Food and organizing the pantry is his happy place.

Even with Tylenol, Abby's fever sky rocketed above 104.  Thankfully, a kind nurse on the phone squeezed us in as the last appointment for the day.

Abby's doctor couldn't have been better.  She took one look at Abby glossy eyes and flaming throat and called it. "Strep."  She was so sure in fact, that she wrote out a prescription for amoxi before we went to the lab downstairs.

Minutes after Abby and the tech tussled, the strep test came back positive.  Thank goodness, an actual diagnosis; something we can work with.  Not a mysterious ailment bringing with it a fever connected to nothing.  I will take strep any day of any week.

But poor kid, she really did have a rough day yesterday between body aches, chills, and generally feeling like hell.  I knew she was hurting when she shunned a Strawberry Shortcake marathon for her own bed and closed shades.



Grayson watched TV most of the day because Andy was stuck outlining historical wars in the study and I couldn't spin the nurse plate and the 5 yo boy plate just then.

By the time I was finished sponging down Abby's scalding hot body, it was near 4pm.

"Can we have a water balloon fight, Mommy?"

Seriously, kid?  I'll have you know I want to curl up on that there couch you've been camped out on all day to close my eyes and dream of rocking in a hammock over fields of barley.

"A water balloon fight.  Okay, yes. Go get your shoes on."

With that, I forced myself to ignore the great desire so sleep and we had ourselves a grand time.

 Granted, the water hose was not the fastest method but it got the job done.

 Which gave Grayson plenty of time to practice his I-Will-Crush-You-Like-A-Samurai faces

 This one kind of had me nervous.

 "I won't throw these at you, Mom!"

 "I will LAUNCH them at you like the scary ball of boy angst that I am!!"

 Ahhh, the One-legged death toss!!

 He even had the dogs running.

 But look who came outside with us later on for a quick visit?  

She didn't last very long but it was good to see her upright again.

I guess sometimes a water balloon fight really is much better than a boring old hammock anyway.

Can We Build It?

For 12 dollars from the thrift store?


YES, we can!

Good Timing

Lately I've had the distinct pleasure of being in the right place at the right time.  Don't you love it when that happens?

There was a networking event I attended two weeks ago where I had no other reason to be there other than to use their bathroom.  No really, I have no idea what possessed me to buy a ticket to this event because it was a Working Women's Networking event.  While I am a working woman (paycheck shmaycheck), I am not selling anything, don't have a brand, and don't even own a suit jacket.
 
What ended up happening is that I gulped down two cups of decaf instead of breakfast that morning so needed the facilities pronto upon arrival.  There is where I serendipitously ran into the guest of honor/speaker while she was in the bathroom freaking out about speaking in public.  In the glossy mirror I could see her shaking while we both almost washed our hands with mouthwash.  She turned to her two friends for comfort.

Then, out of nowhere I uncharacteristically blurted something out that caused her to look me in face, hug me like we knew each other and walk away.

She went live minutes later and was brilliantly funny, at ease and lovely.  I'm not saying she needed me to accomplish that.  She would've been amazing without me there to hug.   I'm just saying I had the fortune of good timing to be able to help calm her down right before it mattered.  And in doing so, I felt more at ease and less like fleeing a throng of put together women clicking on their smartphones.  And believe me, knowing nobody and feeling like the tattooed girl at Tiffany's, I wanted to walk out of the room instead of parking my underwhelming summer dress at an empty table glinting with water glasses. 

Then, there was Elvis.  I still don't really know what to make of Elvis.

And yesterday on the small spectrum of good timing, the kids and I scooped up this spider to relocate him to his summer home.

 If we didn't see him/her then she/he would've certainly been Tillie food.  I'm still not used to the fact that Tillie eats spiders because Sadie turns her nose up at week old lunch meat.  This one looked gnarly enough to bite back so I'm glad we didn't end up at the vet with a sick dog.

And then today we were doing donuts in a cul-de-sac (it's a game we so cleverly call, "Donuts in the Cul-De-Sac") and ran into our neighbor looking for his dog...a dog that we just happened to see trotting down the road suspiciously next to but not leashed to a man.

"Hop in!" I yelled with the kids still pinballing around in the back seats.

Distressed neighbor jumped in with his leash and we drove him two streets away to where his dog had been.

We spotted Naughty Dog bolting through the park and into the woods.

Just in the knick of time.  "I would've gone the other way, thank you for being there," gushed our neighbor who was hopefully grateful enough to not call the cops the next time we decide to do donuts in his cul-de-sac.  "What are the chances?"  he asked us.

Shoot, pretty darn good this week Mister.

A Stuffin' Mommy

We were on a mission to find Grayson a new red pillow today.

Our mission was aborted on our way to the second Target (first one fresh out of red pillows) because kids fell fast asleep in the car.

Silly me thought that meant we should circle back home and institute a nap day.  I try one every 23 days or so.

Silly, silly me.

After about 45 minutes of incoherent angry child warbling and less coherent PO'd bed linen shuffling, zero naps were being had.

In fact, I think both of them were a little sweaty in their efforts to not nap.

Finally I hear Abby say something to Grayson through the wall:
Gwayson?  What are you doing?  I'm makin' a stuffin' mommy.  Did you hear me?  Can you peas answer me?  I'm makin' a stuffin' mommy.  What are you doing, Gwayson?

The curiosity was too compelling.  Grayson and I met each other in the hallway.  We had to know.

Just in the knick of time, if you ask me.


Behold...

A Stuffin' Mommy!

She looks a bit deflated and droopy like the real one, doesn't she?

Abby might need to revisit her design but I quite enjoy the concept.

Stuffin' Mommy is undergoing a facelift in the backyard as we speak wherein Grayson and Abby are searching for twigs, branches, and I think she said pollen.  Where they're going to put those concerns me so I will sign off for now.

More pics to follow....!

***********************************

Here's where the Stuffin' Mommy ended up.

Tillie was hoping I knew how to put it back together again so she could have a giant stuffy all to herself.

Her wish came true.  It's back in pillow form and sitting on her bed, next to her other "babies."

Bird Feeders

What began as a keep-the-kids-from-self-destruction-while-I-cook-dinner activity turned out to be pretty cool.


The kids chose materials thoughtfully and according to what they felt the birds would like.

Grayson's birds must be of northern descent (notice the snowflakes) and have allergies (yep, that's a tissue.)

 

Abby's are more a southern breed with an appreciation for Easter pastel and googly eyes.

Both are creations almost ready to occupy our backyard as soon as I brave up and cut feeder holes into the plastic.

Or maybe I can jam some Christmas lights in there and call it shabby chic.
We're down with the shabby,

still working on the chic.