My Barfing Valentine

So, we are emerging from is pretty lousy week. On the upside, it went fast. On the downside...well, there were a lot of bodily fluids of a decided unpleasant variety all over the place.

Kaya got a nasty (I'd like to use the word "killer" but since we were verging on the literal sense of that it seems wrong) stomach virus. All I can say is....OY. It started last Thursday (or possibly even the week prior to that since she had been behaving not herself for almost a week before the bug hit), but when it hit, it was hard.

After she was no better in 36 hours, we went to the walk-in clinic where the doctor told us to stop all food and bottles and give her only Pedialyte for the next 24 hours, which we did and which seemed to work. Except when the 24 hours was upand I tried to feed her again (dry toast) we went right back to square one. Only by this time she was already quite low on fluids and it was almost impossible to get enough liquid into her to replace the vast amount she was losing.

The next morning, as had been our worry, we knew we had crossed the line from sick baby to dehydrated baby, so off to the emergency room we went. We got there and I was pretty happy because it was virtually empty and we were the only people in the pediatric room. But we waited and waited and waited. And people just kept coming until there must have been 100 people waiting. Finally, after almost 4 hours, Eric saw a girl he knew who happened to be working there. We chatted for a bit and then two minutes later she comes back out and escorts to the back. I'm pretty sure that if we never had that "in" we would still be waiting there. Anyway, they told us to give the Pedialyte by syringe every 15 minutes (which once the novelty wears off, is a huge pain. Anyway, it more or less did the trick. It still took almost two days to have a normal wet diaper.

Anyway, it's all good now. Kaya has bounced back 120 per cent. She seems even happier than she was before she got sick, if that is even possible. Today she was giggling at everything. However, we have taken it easy this week. I was so bored, I was actually thinking how nice it would be go to work where nobody ever asks to watch a Tonka DVD for the millionth time.

So, yeah, I know this was a boring blog, but that's all I have.

These Are the People in Your Neighbourhood

Seriously, my neighbours are nuts. How did we get so unlucky as to have people on both sides of us that we absolutely cannot stand?

Of course, the Oldies next door (who have not spoken a word to us in 2 years - well, except to tell Kieran to get out of their driveway) have been embroiled in a decades long war with the Trashies on the other side of us. I know this because prior to the Oldies ceasing to speak to us, the wife would corral me every chance she got to TELL me how much she hated the Trashies and all the horrible things he'd done (apparently he'd stalked the woman who lived in our house, he drove his kids to school drunk and other horrible things).

And Mr Trashy next door, who is also a yammerer, would tell me how the Oldies have a vendetta against him and would complain about every single thing...such as his young kids being "too loud" in the pool on a Saturday afternoon. His kids ARE loud in the pool but aren't ALL kids? It would never even cross my MIND to complain about kids having fun in their own yard during the daytime.

After living here three years I'm still not sure who to believe because they are both so unlikeable, but it's like living on the border between Israel and the Gaza Strip. I'm half expecting grenades to lobbed over our flower garden.

Anyhow, yesterday, as usual I am going about my business inside our house when I hear a commotion from our sidewalk. I didn't pay much attention because I figured it was just kids but then one of Eric's clients left and when the door opened I could hear that it was adults screaming at each other. Turns out, it was the middle-aged daughter of the Oldies (who does not live there) and Mr Trashy. Trashy is holding a hockey stick in a threatening manner and Oldie-daughter is screaming that she's going to call the cops. This is all happening on our sidewalk.

Eric's poor client, who is a young high school girl just trying to get to her car is totally freaked out. And we notice for the first time that she has parked (100 per cent legally) in the forbidden spot right across from the Oldies driveway which is the reason they aren't talking to us in the first place. Well, sure enough, Oldie daughter, who again might I mention DOES NOT LIVE THERE, marches right up to the poor girl and tells her not to park there ever again, which I'm sure scared her even more.

Unfortunately, I don't actually know what the argument was about. We were heading out a few minutes later and Trashy was still outside and tried to engage us in a regular conversation about our Valentines Day plans and all I wanted to ask him was what the argument was about but I chickened out.

I'm sure it was something ridiculous, but I'm just thankful that the Oldies don't acknowledge our existence let alone scream at us. Yet.

Summer's coming!!!

Timbits

I just read that a 56 year old woman has become the first person to swim across the Atlantic Ocean. Jesus. I'm happy if I make it to the mall. In a car.

*****

If I continually weep at the Biggest Loser, does that, ironically, make me the Biggest Loser? Seriously, this show is now on Season 6 and why have I never even once watched it before? I love it. I love the fact that even though it's ostensibly a competition where you are voted out by your fellow competitors it's not that irritating Survivor-type where deserving people go home right off the bat. Or maybe I just like to watch really, really large people run. Makes me feel better about myself.

*****

We had a family outing today. To the pawn shop. It's a really dingy little place, where you walk in to this tiny, foul smelling room that is essentially a cage and which makes Kieran cry. The sales people stand behind the bars and show you stuff that is apparently soooo valuable it must be separated from the patrons by Leavenworth-grade steel bars. We were there because Eric, last summer, while playing stupid baseball, got hit in the hand with a ball and had to remove his wedding ring just before he watched his finger swell up to 5 times its normal size. He says he thought he put the ring in the van for safekeeping but when he went to look for it later it was nowhere to be found. (I know, I know, likely story). Anyway, I had thought about replacing the ring for Christmas but decided to get him a computer keyboard stand instead. So, since obviously both of us have romance coursing through our veins we decided that we would check out this old neighbourhood pawn shop to see if we could get someone ELSE's ring. But there was nothing. Fingers crossed that more marriages break up so we can snag ourselves a good deal on used rings with bad karma.

****

I don't know what is going on with that baby of ours. For the past few nights she has been waking up at about 10ish and then again at about 1230 and screaming her head off inconsolably. Nothing will calm her down (bottle, soother, rocking chair, reruns of Lost, nothing. ) Last night was so bad she wound up sleeping in our bed for the first time in about six months. I slept fine with her there but Eric worries all night that he is going to crush her under his Hulk-like muscles so we'll see how tonight goes. So far its not good, but I made sure to guzzle some red wine early so with any luck I'll be able to sleep through her cries.

****

While eating his soup today and spilling some down his chin, Kieran mention again the apparent fact that he has a beak. He corrected himself, but I think it was half-hearted. I'm pretty sure he thinks he's a bird. But, I hope it's a cool bird like an eagle or a concord and not something wussy like a cockatoo.

And I Quote...

Kieran was jumping around between the ottomans and the couch and (predictably) ended up whacking his face off something.He comes over to me, weeping and rubbing his nose.

Kieran: Mommy, I hurt my beak.

Me: What? Your beak? Do you mean your nose?

Kieran: No, my beak.

Me: You don't have a beak.

Kieran: I don't? Oh.