Human Mop

Better than Romo

Name that ... Newman?!?

I was a Mass Communications major in college. NDSU didn't offer a true Journalism major, or that is what my diploma would read. I wanted to be Tom Brokaw, which is to say that I wanted to be on TV and be rich and famous and I couldn't act, so journalism seemed like the next best bet. When I started taking classes I never really thought about whether I was good at writing or not, or if I even liked doing it. I had my eye on the prize. I was 20 years old.

I'm not real sure the differences between a major in Journalism and a major in English other than in Journalism we are supposed to write fact instead of fiction and we only put one space between sentences. In hindsight, creative writing or fiction might have been a more productive avenue for me to explore.

Enough background.  

I like words. Whether that came before or after the degree, I'm not sure, but I enjoy the English language. I'm not that great at it considering it is my native tongue, but here in Oklahoma the fact that I enunciate alone makes me sound like a genius. I mispronounce words, and there are way more words that I don't know what they mean than I care to admit to. But make no mistake, I have an opinion on words.

There are some great words that I just like to try to work into the conversation any chance I can. These are fun words that make me smile, words that just feel good on your tongue. "Hey ninecompoop! Why don't we skedaddle over to your bungalow so you can play your cockamamie ukulele for me?" Wasn't that a good time?

Then there are words that simply make me cringe. Sure there are the bad words, the politically incorrect words that no one is ever supposed to say, but I am talking about everyday words that are just ugly. "Hey gubernatorial candidate! Clear the phlegm and grab your slacks and brassiere". Gross.

For my money, there is simply no worse word, no uglier word, no word that sounds worse in the entire English language than Goiter. Goiter is a terrible, awful word. Goiter sounds dirty. Goiter sounds hairy. It is impossible to say the word Goiter without making the same face that Jerry Seinfeld made every time he said "Newman".

Did I forget to mention that I have a goiter? Musta slipped my mind.

Remember back here when the good doctor thought my thyroid was enlarged? Well against my better judgement (and in my tight fitting jeans) she talked me into the blood work. It came back fine, but she insisted on an ultrasound. They found a mass, which they refer to as ... wait for it ... a goiter.

A Google search of Wikipedia will quickly put your mind at ease about goiters.

Now if you remember back here when I was pleased that my big pregnant belly cast a distraction from my pointy nose, I'd say I have nothing to worry about in the distraction department should said goiter grow to the size displayed above. Did you even notice if she had a nose? I think not.

Research has indicated that goiters are caused by a lack of iodine, leading me to believe I need to increase my iodine intake. But where does one find iodine? Shell fish. My good friend Kalee suggested that "I get crabs for my goiter". My guess is she is still giggling about that one.

I go in next week for test on my goiter. They are doing a 'fine needle biopsy' and I am taking some comfort in the fact that they are not choosing to do a 'fat needle biopsy'.

On the off chance that my goiter goes away miraculously on its own, that it has to be removed, or that it grows so large that it needs its own zip code, I thought I should take this opportunity to name it. I cannot keep referring to it as "my goiter" because every time I say that word, I throw up a little in my mouth. I name my garmin, I name my trees, it seems only appropriate I name my goiter.

But I am struggling the the appropriate name, so I am opening the floor for comments and suggestions. The more hideous, the better. Please people, save me from ever having to type "GOITER" again!

Miserable baby

We have had a rough couple of days.

It started with a fever on Saturday morning. I was able to get some Tylenol in Ryder and the fever came down, but he just wasn't himself. He had a runny nose and gunky eyes and he was cranky all day. He threw up his dinner and went to bed without incident about 7 pm Saturday night. I should have known there was trouble brewing.

About 11:30 he woke up screaming and felt like a baked potato. Since I cannot run the damn thermometer, Trent did two checks and they both came back at 103.5. This was our first taste of a fever that high. As soon as he saw the medicine dropper coming at him, he started to gag. He would not open his mouth to get the Tylenol in. After wrestling with him for about 20 minutes, about half the dose was in his mouth and half was smeared all over his hands and face. We were all burning up. At 12:30, I called the pediatrician.

Much to my surprise, an answering service picked up and asked me if I wanted to speak to the doctor. I'm not if that is offered to everyone who calls in the middle of the night or if she sensed the panic in my voice, but when I screamed out "YES" a very nice man was on the phone in 30 seconds. He advised us to try Motrin if the fever wasn't down in another 30 minutes and that our pediatrician had office hours the next morning. He said they only worry if the fever is over 104, so we should be fine until then. He had no advice on getting the medicine into the child who would not open his mouth or on whether our thermometer could be off half a degree. He went back to bed.

We put a cold wash cloth on Ryder's head and took turns holding him while he screamed. About an hour later the fever started to come down, and an hour after that he was back asleep. This scenario replayed itself at 4:30 am, but replace Tylenol with Motrin and add that he threw it up all over the dog.

I don't remember much about Sunday other than that Ryder (and Trent, and I) slept until 9:30 and missed the office hours our doctor had. When I called them there was no way we could get to Norman from Blanchard so we made an appointment for Monday. We struggled with the high fever, the medicine, and one sick baby all day. There is nothing in this world than when your baby is sick and there is nothing you can do to make them better.

Ryder spent Monday morning with his Nana, then Trent took him to the doctor that afternoon. He has a double ear infection and is getting all 4 top teeth at once, which is causing swelling and pressure that, coupled with the ear infection, is causing everything to drain out every hole available. That is why the gunk is coming out of his eyes and his throat is sore. Amanda (the pediatricians PA) said that it is uncommon for babies to get all their top teeth at once. We were at the doctor on Tuesday, and even saw Amanda for Ryder's 9 month well child visit. She checked his ears and his teeth and none of these things were issues. Quite a difference 4 days can make.

She prescribed an oral antibiotic we have to give him twice a day for 10 days. Not sure how we are supposed to do that. She advised putting it in his bottle with 1 or 2 ounces of formula, but the little stinker is too smart for that. He knows when we do, and he will not - for love or money - drink that bottle. She also prescribed eye drops, one drop in each eye 4 times a day. Yeah, right. I couldn't even get one drop in Trent's eye, much less Ryder's.

So needless to say, things have not improved much around here. I think he is feeling better, but still not good. He is pulling at his ears still, but his eyes look better and his nose isn't dripping as much. His teeth hurt, he is taking both the teething tablets and orajel and he still spends 90% of the time with his hand in his mouth. He hasn't had a fever in 2 days and he went back to daycare today.

I will never be so happy to see teeth come through, I don't care if he has to wear braces on those teeth for 10 years.

Ready for the Army

I remember having to Army crawl in PE class. I didn't like it. And I don't think I was this good at it ...

Overheard

Mom and I were discussing my first blog comment from someone I don't know on the phone this evening. Trent overheard the conversation, and asked about it when I hung up.

Trent: Someone commented on the blog?
Me: Yeah, someone wrote a comment about the thyroid post (he hadn't read it yet, so I recapped the post and the comment).
Trent: Who was it?
Me: I don't know, that was what we were talking about.
Trent: People we don't know read the blog?
Me: Like 6000 people have read it.
Trent: I thought it was private.
Me: It is on the internet ...
Trent: Well I don't know how that stuff works.
Me: You thought the World Wide Web was just ours?!?

No wonder he doesn't get more upset at the creative liberty I take with the stories I tell about him. He really thought my mother was the only one who could read them. Oops ...

Spring is in the air

We are going on our 3rd straight day of temperatures in the high 70s this week. While that is lovely spring weather, it has caused every flowering tree to go berzerk, and I had the sinus infection to prove it.

I never had allergies before moving to Oklahoma. Of course I never lived somewhere where cedar trees appear to be on fire as they puff off their pollen or whatever cedar trees puff. I heard once that Tulsa is the allergy capitol of the United States. Blanchard America is not far from Tulsa.

Speaking of Blanchard, I always wanted a Magnolia tree. It just seemed so southern. When I decided to plant some trees a couple years back I went shopping specifically for one - you know the ones with the big dark green leaves and the huge while flowers. Come to find out there are many varieties of Magnolia trees, and those classic ones from the movies are like 100 bucks for one 3 feet tall and the circumference of my pinkie. I instead opted for one with a better name ... a BLANCHARD Magnolia! I mean really, what are the chances?!?!

So I made Trent dig a hole and plant Blanche in the front yard, and while I loved her name, my heart ached for a real Magnolia. A couple weeks later I found a real one for a steal at just $75. Trent tried to talk me out of it, as he saw where this was headed. Sure enough if I didn't make him dig up Blanche and move her to the back yard to make room for Maggie Magnolia. She was perfect.

The flaw with real Magnolia trees is in their beauty. They don't shed those huge, beautiful dark green leaves in the winter. So a couple years ago, in the middle of a good Oklahoma ice storm, Maggie gathered 4 inches of ice on each of her big, beautiful leaves and she cracked under the pressure. I cried for 2 days. After the storm we laid Maggie to rest (after I threw a little fit kicking her trunk and cursing mother nature so loudly the neighbors came outside to see what the commotion was about). Maggie has been replaced with a purple plum or some flowering thing that makes me sneeze. You thought I was going to make him move Blanche back, didn't you ... ;)

Blanche remains in the backyard. She is less like a tree and more like a squatter. She isn't bushy. I'll have to get more photos in the summer once she gets leaves. For now, she is quite lovely naked.

Splish Splash

So Ryder has incredibly long hair on the top of his head and not much on the sides or in the back. We have even been asked if we have cut it in a mohawk before (we do not). This prompted some fun during bath time the other night, which of course led to some good photo ops. I might be a little biased, but I think he could pull it off!

Overheard

A couple months ago my doctor put me on some daily medication to help with the migraines. Today I had a follow-up appointment to see how the meds were working. Now I'm not saying I don't take my health seriously ....

Doctor: You have lost 21 pounds since you started taking this medication.
Me: Yay!
Doctor: Have you been feeling tired? Sluggish?
Me: I have a 9 month old baby.
Doctor: Your neck looks peculiar (honestly, that is the word she used)
Me: Yes, it is unusually long. You should see my mothers.
Doctor: Your thyroid seems to be enlarged on the left side.

The doctor pokes and squeezes around at my neck, listens to stuff, looks in stuff ... etc.

Doctor: I would like to do some blood work to check your thyroid
Me: Why?
Doctor: Your thyroid looks enlarged and if it gets out of wack it can cause weight loss and feelings of tiredness.
Me: What do you do about an out of wack thyroid?
Doctor: We would schedule an ultrasound, but there is medication you can take that will get your levels back to normal if there is a problem.
Me: Will this medication make me gain the weight back?
Doctor: Probably, it will also give you back your energy.
Me: Let's hold off on the blood work for a while.
Doctor: Why?
Me: I just bought new jeans. They were kind of expensive.

Le Pew

Saturday morning, 1:50 am ...

The baby was squawking, so I got out of bed and went to check on him. He readjusted and went back to sleep, not demanding a bottle for the first time in weeks. A pleasant surprise to his mother, who welcomed the quick return trip to bed and what was looking to be the first semi-full night sleep in much too long.

Saturday morning, 2:00 am ...

After getting nestled back comfortably in bed, I was startled to hear quite a commotion outside. The dogs were outside, and they were highly agitated about something. Dakota was barking, loudly and often. I again got out of bed to assess the situation.

I could smell the problem before I saw it. When I went to the back door to look out, I could see Dakota standing just off the patio barking toward the house. More specifically, barking at the back door. When I looked directly down (the back door is made of glass) I could see the problem. In the corner between the door and the house, pinned captive by the dog, was a skunk.

So much for a good night sleep.

This scenario happened once before, and overall it had a better outcome. But we will get to that part. That is just to say that I somewhat knew what to do. I woke Trent up and told him what was going on. This time I made sure he put on pants. An extra layer of complexity was added to the drama since Dad and Ruth got us a gun safe and he had to remember the combination to the guns in his groggy state, but he managed to find a weapon and even managed to get the right ammunition in the gun this time (last time he tried to put rifle bullets in the shotgun). He sneaked out the front door and went around the house. When I saw him get into position, I was to flip on the light.

Now we didn't discuss what was to happen after I flipped on the light, but in his half-asleep, armed state, I somehow envisioned a shotgun blast coming through my glass backdoor, missing the skunk and providing a route for the scared, but alive skunk to get inside the house. As bad as what actually happened was, that would have been considerably worse. I guess we need to start having skunk drills when we are both sufficiently awake.

So the dogs are still barking like crazy, the light is on, Trent is standing in the backyard with a shotgun and the skunk is scared and mad and whatever else a skunk needs to be spray its stinkiness everywhere. The smell is phenomenal. It is so overwhelming that you cannot stand to take a breath. I am in the house, but fairly close to the stunk. I am gagging, holding my house, and I even threw up a little. You cannot even imagine. But the skunk isn't going anywhere.

The standoff lasts for what seems like hours. Trent cannot keep Dakota backed away or quiet long enough to get the skunk away from the house. Finally he fires up the hose and blasts water at Pepe to encourage him out in the open. They go out into the night where I can no longer see, and I hear two blasts of the gun. For a second I worry that he just shot one of my dogs.

I have no idea what time this all ended. He shot the skunk and advised that the dogs took a direct hit from the spray and were not to come in the house. He locked the gun back up and we went back to bed. Ryder never woke up.

Saturday morning, 6 am ...

Ryder and I woke up to a stench so strong that the only option was to sell the house. I looked outside his bedroom window, and not 10 feet from the house lays the body of Pepe. I'm sure at 3 am, in the dark, it seemed like the stunk was a long way from the house, but his stinky glands apparently swelled post-mortem, and the smell was wafting toward the house even worse. I woke Trent up to deal with the body.

He buried the skunk and rinsed down the patio with the hose (it did not help whatsoever). The smell was actually worse IN the house than outside if that was even possible. And at some point we had to deal with those dogs.

I lit every scentsy burner and every candle I own, which made the house smell like skunk-peppermint-carmel apple pie-cotton-maple brown sugar-coconut-skunk. I cannot say that was an improvement. I opened the windows, and since it was 45 degrees that just made it cold and smelly.

We washed the dogs in a solution of peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap. Callie wasn't bad, Dakota still stinks.

Mom said I would look back on this and laugh someday.

That day is not here yet.

Puff Master!

Either he's getting better at eating the puffs or I'm getting smarter about where I feed them ...

Hand-me-down day

One of my favorite days growing up was when a bag of hand-me-downs would show up from Wendi Whitman. Wendi was a cousin's cousin on the other side of the family, and enough older than me that I felt like a rock star in her clothes. She was in high school, she was beautiful, blonde, and super duper radical (it was the 80s after all). I have a very distinct memory of pink jeans with no pockets on the butt and a thin, metallic gold belt. I could have been Cindy Lauper.

I just reconnected with Wendi on Facebook. She is still blonde, still beautiful, and from what I can gather, still pretty radical. She appears to be about 5'2'' and can't weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet. I'm glad I got the pink jeans when I could fit into them.

Ryder is blessed to have many sources of hand-me-downs in his life. While he is too young to enjoy it just yet, today I unpacked the last of 4 large totes of clothes sent down from Jill and Shelly last Spring. Let's say with the 14 pair of 12 month jeans I uncovered, I won't need to do any shopping for denim anytime soon.

But I could sacrifice one pair, cut out the knees and throw a little bleach on them to give them that 'acid' wash look and pretend Ryder is the lead singer of Def Leppard.

Much thanks to Grady, Tucker, Ty, and McCray for being Wendi to my Ryder.

Dear Ryder - 9 Months

Dear Ryder,

Today you are 9 months old. Happy 3/4 of a year!

You weigh 22 pounds, which means that you have leveled off a little as you only gained one pound since last month. Again it is a total guess but I think you are about the same in length too as your clothes seem to fit you about the same. You are in a size 3 diaper although we switched from Pampers Swaddlers to Pampers Cruisers because your tiny hiney looks just adorable in the polka dots. Your onsies and pants are either 9 or 12 months, your PJ's are 12 months, and your shirts are 12 or 18 months. Your belly tends to poke out the bottom of your shirts.

Your left ear has a funny indention in the back that looks a little like it was stapled, and your belly button is now completely normal looking. Your birthmark has faded on the back of your head, but it looks the same on your cheek and below your ear.Your hair is still light but getting pretty long and thick on top, and your eyes are turning more brown every day. You, my son, have cankles.

You have gotten two new teeth this month. One new one on the bottom poked through mid February and one on top just came through this last week. I am hoping the one of the top is not a front tooth because, based on its current location, I am seeing years of orthodontist visits in your future. The tooth on top has been extra hard on you and you have been chewing on everything in sight. The teething tablets seem to make it better for a while, but you are definitely not yourself.

You like to use those new teeth for talking. We have no idea what you are saying, but you talk all the time. You talk to your toys, you talk to the dogs, you talk to the sheets in your crib ... you never stop making sounds. Most of the sounds you make sound like 'da' or 'dude' which is fun, but I would love to hear 'mama' come out of your mouth. You are most talkative when you first get up, and usually you give me a piece of your mind before getting out of bed. I take this to mean you aren't a morning person.

You still like your bouncer but you prefer sitting on the floor and playing with your toys. You love to play with anything you can bang together, and the louder the noise it makes, the more you like it. You wiggle around to get where you want to go, but you are not crawling. You are a good sitter, but once you get on your stomach you cannot get yourself back to the sitting position, which upsets you greatly. You like to stand and hold onto things, but you won't pull yourself up on your own. Once you are standing you don't realize that holding on is what is keeping you up and you let go. Luckily mom is always close by to catch you. You have figured out how to make your walker move on the title floor, but you only go backwards. Once you back up to the carpet, you squeal.

Your eating has tapered off a bit. You still like peas and green beans best, but you usually only want one veggie with one meat for dinner. You LOVE puffs and want them whenever you can get them. You have mastered getting them from your hand into your mouth (much to the disappointment of the dogs) and you act like you are chewing them. You even like the yogurt melts which mom thinks taste a little like poison.

You are back to getting up in the night for a bottle, but you chug down the bottle and go right back to sleep. You and I fought about this for a few nights, but mom decided that being up for 10 minutes and having a bottle and sleeping until 6:30 was better than no bottle and getting up at 5:00. Remember that I can compromise when you get to be 16. Typically you go to bed between 7:30 and 8:00, get up for a bottle around 3:30, and I have to wake you up for daycare at 6:15. Of course on the weekend when we can sleep in you are wide awake at 5:00. I will remember that when you are 16.

You are going through a stage right now where you are either afraid of other people or just don't like them. Although occasionally it is more of a "love the one you are with" attitude as you screamed bloody murder when daddy tried to take you away from Miss Jesse at daycare last week. Most of the time you only want mommy to hold you. I personally don't see anything wrong with that. In life people might call you a mama's boy, you remind them that it is perfectly normal for a son to love his mama best.

You are my sugar plum, my honey bear, my pumpkin patch and the light of my life.

I love you to the moon and back,
Mommy