Quarantine

Imagine having a fever, and then suddenly looking at your limbs and noticing red spots. Taking a deep breath in, pain begins radiating down your throat as your tongue finds sore after sore.

Is it the plague?

Nope.

Oh my God, you have small pox!

Not quite.

Bird flu?

No.

Are you dying?

Don't be a drama queen.

What is this feverish hell you ask? 

Ladies, and gentleman may I present the joy that is HAND FOOT AND MOUTH disease!

Margo day 5 

Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease is a virus, and like all viruses, the only thing to make them go away is time.

That means, no pill or shot. Just day after day of quarantine, because until the fever disappears it is highly contagious.

Yes.

Highly.

Contagious.

Yes. The highly contagious that would spread from one child to the other and then the other.

Three girls within five days suffering a high fever and varying degrees of sores.

It was bad.

There were sleepless nights and round the clock doses of Motrin to help with the pain. There were oatmeal baths, and repeat applications of Aquaphor.

Popsicles. Milkshakes. Milk. Gatorade.

And even a few applications of magic mouthwash - equal parts liquid Maalox and liquid Benadryl dabbed on mouth sores. It does live up to the name. 

I thought the five days of quarantine were bad and then Bryan came home with a fever.

Usually I am one to make fun of the "Man Cold" or "Man illness" but in this case, the sores on his hands, feet and mouth have made me a little more sympathetic.

Here he is, day 6 walking in pain as the sores on the pads of his heels and feet pop open, wincing as his fingers hurt. I feel bad.

But not bad enough to want to get it too. As of today, I'm fever free. I have no sores and I pray to God I remain this way.

So, if you think you are having a bad summer, it could be worse.

Your house could be taken over by Hand, Foot, and Mouth.

The above photos were taken day 1, and yes Margo is rocking her beads, because nothing says "I have a contagious virus that hurts like a mother" quite like purple Mardi Gras beads. 

How does your garden grow?

Our yard has been a work in progress.

When we first moved in nearly five years ago, it looked like this.

It was scary. 

Dare I say, forest like? I will admit, I had zero desire to spend any real time out there. 

Slowly but surely things are looking up. 

May I present our newest addition to our yard, 

The GARDEN!

Bryan has put a lot of blood, sweat and even a few tears into building the walls around the garden. The former owners at one time or another had had a dedicated garden space behind the garage. Over the years, it had fallen into disrepair and overgrown with weeds and such. Bry took it upon himself to pull up the old railroad ties which served at the former border. He then took a shovel and some elbow grease to turn over some of the earth. Purchasing the bricks at Lowes, he and his old wheelbarrow spent a long afternoon creating the wall. 

 We have a good group of yard guys that brought in a few tons of mushroom enriched soil and friends, our garden is here! This year we are planting a lot of different fruits and vegetables. Since we are unsure of our spot and the earth, we figured we'd do a little bit of a lot and she how things turn out. 

I really want the girls to be active participants in the garden. They came with us to the local garden company to pick out some sprouts and seeds. We got them their own gloves to help with weeding and pruning, and were great at planting. They are quick to remind me to water, and have taken turns manning the hose. 

As a final addition, they painted seashells multiple bright colors. We had collected these a few summers ago from the beach, and prior to their home in the garden, they just were sitting out front in our flower bed.  Each was painted a different color and then I marked the plant's name in paint pen. 

Like I mentioned earlier, this garden is an experiment. 

We have never grown anything before, but I am eagerly optimist that we will be enjoying the fruits of our labor later this summer. 

Stay tuned for updates!

Daddy Does It

Monday, Funday! Listicle time over at the Good Life, and who am I to skip a party?

This week the Dame de Listicles Stasha gave the pleasure of topic choosing to her better half, AKA Mr. Stasha errr...Mr. Good Life, or perhaps, the North West Daddy would be a good pseudonym. Anyway, it was he who suggested this week's topic:

10 Things Husbands Should Do

This list could not come at a better time over here in the Land of  'Zilla. Bry has been having some daddy issues. Not issues regarding his own father, but rather his worries as a parent. For some ungodly reason he has been having some doubts. I'd love to say it's because I am the rock star of all parents and that's what's given him a complex, but alas, that would be a lie. I do believe it has more to do with the time constraints his job places on his ability to hang out with our cherubs during waking hours. He wants to be with them more, and hates that he can't. Even though work keeps him from the girls, there is an absolute: 

He is a great father, PERIOD. 

And so, I'm changing it up a bit, my list is dedicated to: 

10 Things Bry Does That Make Him an Awesome Husband

1. He Tells me I'm Beautiful. 

It's the end of the day. The girls are in bed, I'm washing the last of the dishes in the sink, in an old t-shirt and pair of mesh shorts, when he'll come close, wrap his arms around me, and tell me how beautiful am I.

2. He Loves to Cook

I'm not talking burgers and hot dogs on the grill, or toast in the toaster. 

The man can cook. 

Steak with homemade Diane sauce and vegetable succotash was dinner Saturday evening. I swear if you give him a few cans, salt & pepper, and freezer stash, he'd pull a McGuyver, and have a three course meal in a little over an hour. 

3. He Chooses Us. 

He has opportunities to dine out, get drinks, and attend various functions that typical adults enjoy attending. He's had invites to sporting events and concerts, but at the end of the day, he passes. On most occasions, given the choice between a Jack & Coke or the three of us waiting at home, he'll chose us. 

4. He Works so I Don't Have To.

Yes, I stay at home with the girls, and to some this can be described as a job. But at the end of the day, regardless of the crap that ensues in the confines of these walls, I don't get a paycheck. Without him working his tail feather off, day in and out, I wouldn't have the luxury of play dough at two in the afternoon, or Wednesday morning trips to the Philadelphia Zoo. 

5. He's Not Scared of Vomit

I am. I gag. I can't deal. 

He has no problem with that. 

6. He Goes Out of His Way to Get me Things He Knows I Like

So maybe most of these are food, i.e. Ben & Jerry's ice cream, Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes, or chocolate chip cookies, but he really knows what I like. He'll be out picking up a few things and just because, I'll find a new type of tea, or bouquet of flowers on the counter. 

7. He Likes the Same Things As Me

The beach, our house, dining out, reading, Phillies & Union games, our girls,

these all are favorites of both of us. 

Now, if I can just get him to exercise.

8. He Knows His Boundaries

He is smart.

Smart enough to know that even though he is intelligent, reading the manual alone does not make him a competent electrician or plumber. He finds no guilt in contracting out tasks which he has no experience, and back to the manual. Before he puts things together, he reads it cover to cover. 

9. He Plays. 

I have seen a lot of parents consumed with technology or conversations with other parents when out with their children. 

Bryan never does this.
His full attention is focused on Mo & Maeve. Be it swimming in the ocean, playing tee-ball in the backyard, or a visit to the zoo, he is fully present in the moment. His phone is safely stashed in his pocket, and his attention is where it should be, with them. 

10. He Has Real Expectations

He has told me on numerous occasions that he could never do what I do. While stay at home fatherhood is a task he jokes he would love to have, he has confessed it's much too hard for him. After a few hours alone with the girls, he is done. Upon my return, often he gives me permission to return to work. Asking how I do it day in and out, because frankly, he doesn't know how I deal.

This enlightenment has given him real expectations as to what may and may not occur day to day at home. Rarely will he expect dinner on the table, a clean house, made beds, and laundry folded while children quietly play at my feet. In the instance they do occur, he is quick to throw me some accolades. That makes a good daddy & hubby. 

Does your husband do something that makes him awesome? 

Feel free to brag. 

Love can be shitty

DISCLAIMER:
To Mom Mom and any other person who will be offended by vulgarity. I apologize in advance. I fully intend to offer a rosary up as penance for this piece, though I do think God has a sense of humor.

"Whatever you had planned, can be put off! I'm going to take care of dinner tonight!" he starts. "I've got to be in Philly today, at the Convention center which means I'll be right next to the the Market*. How about I pick up some sausage & fish for dinner? I'll throw it on the grill. We can have a nice meal. What do you think?"

*Reading Terminal Market. 

"Yippee! Sounds like a plan!" I eagerly respond. "Throw those chicken thighs back in the freezer."

Coming home from the park, just after six, he is in his glory in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"I got this fish, something called butterfish. It's like a white tuna. Supposedly it cooks well" he says as he holds up the sturdy piece of white fish. "I was considering doing a full fish."

I crinkle my nose in response.

"Glad I steered clear of the whole fish then. I got some green onions and asparagus too. I picked up a kielbasa for the girls. Should be a good dinner." he finishes, heading to the door. "I've got the grill warmed up. I'll be back in a few."

Dinner is fabulous.

The fish has a light buttery flavor which is further complimented by the garlic, onions, olive oil and lemon juice he uses as a marinade. The grilled asparagus and green onions have similar seasonings, creating quite a delicious meal.

And really, a meal cooked for you always does seem to taste that much better.

I quickly devour the fish.

"It's so light, yet has a steak like bite" I say. "Good pick, Babe."

"Thanks" he continues. "They had sword(fish), tuna, and some other stuff, but this looked pretty fresh. Plus, we like to try new things."

In between my own bites, I notice he has consumed little of his own.

"What's up?" I ask. "Aren't you feeling it?"

"Ah, it's okay." he says. "You know how it is. Most of the time when I cook something I end up not eating too much of it. It's just how it is. I cooked this because I know you love it."

I smile. "Thanks babe!" I offer.

"You know," he says, "the last time I think I really actually ate a lot of what I cooked was when I made that paella. Remember that? Ah, that was a good meal!"

"Yeah." I nod. "You did house that!"

I look down, and notice my plate is empty, save for a few pieces of scaly fish skin.

"Well, for me. You can totally pick up this butter fish again. Good pick!"

Having suffered a migraine earlier in the day, I head to bed earlier than usual.

I am surprised when I find Bry standing next to the bed, waking me up.

Glancing to the clock, it's just after midnight.

"Seriously?" I ask. "What's up? Is everything okay?"

"No." he says, in a serious tone. "You need to hear this."

I am awake now, anxiously awaiting his comment.

"What?" I ask. "What's up?"

"You're going to hate me. Remember that fish you just ate?" he starts, panic in his voice.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You know how we've never heard about it before?"

"Yeah."

His voice is calm as he responds, "So I googled it and well, it can cause anal leakage."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask, my voice now just under shouting.

"Apparently, it's some sort of fish, called escolar but people also call it white tuna or butterfish. It has some thing in it similar to that shit that used to be chips. You know, that olestra crap?" he rambles.

"Wait a second, that olestra crap made people shit themselves, right? That stuff was horrible!" I say.

"Well, this fish has something similar in it and it causes people to basically have liquid poo." he says.

"Why do they sell this? Who would eat it then? Why didn't we know?" I ask, wondering what sane person would consume such a food.

"Can you believe people consider it a delicacy?" he continues, "Some people eat it as sushi. But the magic number is 6 ounces. From what I read, if you eat under 6 ounces you'll be fine."

I take a breath and then ask, "How much would say was my piece?"

"7 ounces." he can't help but laugh as he responds.

"Fuck me. How long will this shit last?" I say.

He looks to me and says, "Well that's the main reason I woke you up. I didn't want you freaking out, thinking you were just farting in the middle of the night, and then it ends up you shit yourself, not just poo, but orange-yellowish oil that you can't control. There seems to be a consensus between 30 minutes and 36 hours for you to process this."

I am in disbelief this time. "It might take a day and a half for me to shit this shit out?"

"Well" he finishes, "I just wanted you to know. You know, so you don't freak out. You know, just in case you shit yourself."

"I guess I should say thanks?" I ask. "Really, I mean thanks for the heads up, but don't get that fish ever again."

He inches closer, kissing me on my forehead. "Good night babe. I love you so much and I'm so sorry about this fish shit. Sleep tight."

"Yeah, thanks" I say, as I turn over adjusting the pillow under my head.

Thankfully, the cast iron stomach I have inherited from my father keeps the escolar from doing it's damage. However, the simple threat of its power keeps me from sleeping soundly that night, for fear of my own ass leaking orange-yellow excrement.

Needless to say, the next time Bry heads to the Market, butterfish will not be on the shopping list.


After that, holy emotional post Batman! that was my submission last week, I've decided to link this stellar piece with Yeah Write! I really can't wait to read this comments. Please feel free to submit ideas for alternative titles, because, well, anal leakage brings out the best in everyone!

Too Late

"So Aunt Lyns, when Patrick gonna get cut out of you?"

We froze mid step, processing the comment.

When my nearly four year old uttered this phrase to our expectant friend about a week ago, I guess this should have been that teachable moment.

You know, the one where I give her the truth about reproduction and childbirth.

Not.

Instead, I looked to my friend Lynsay wide eyed in a state of fear and confusion. She returned my glance with her own blank stare.

"Um, we'll see Mo" she uttered, her eyes fixed on me, looking for direction.

"Yeah Mo," I started, "It's still only March. Patrick won't be here until after your birthday. Sometime in April, he'll be born."

"So that's when they'll cut you, right?" she asked.

"Yeah" nodding along, "yeah, that's right. Um...who wants lunch?" I pleaded, changing the subject.

There was no way I was talking reproduction with my nearly four year old in the breezeway in our local downtown.

Later I rehashed the conversation with Bry. Between dramatic eye rolls and excessive head shaking, he stuttered, "Should we prepare ourselves, you know, in case she asks more?" Visibly shaken and in a state of disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, seriously? How many kids her age ask about stuff like this?"

"No way." I said. "I am NOT having the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's too young. I don't need to be THAT mom. Plus, she saw my c-section scar this morning when I was getting dressed, that might have been on her mind. That's it. She won't ask."

"You sure?" he asked, "You're the teacher". His deference apparent in his voice.

"No way would she ask" I countered."No way, I sincerely doubt she will ask anything more."

Damn you kid!

Descending the stairs Saturday night, the hurried cadence of his footsteps let me know something was wrong.

"We've got a huge problem, " Bry started, "you might want to turn off the TV for this one. It's all your fault." His brow furrowed, as he melted into the couch. "You said we'd be okay."

In those few seconds, my mind wandered frantically, fear over what it could be.

"What is it?" I asked, switching off the television. Turning towards him, I noticed the look of disgust on his face.

"You said we'd have time. Just a few days ago, you said not too worry." his voice a little louder than a whisper, as he shook his head side to side.

"Well what is it? Is it Mo? Maeve? Is everything okay?" I pleaded, attempting to suppress the panic in my voice.

"No. She asked" as he gulped air, "where babies come from?"

"Excuse me?" I said, "She asked what?"

"She wanted to know how PJ got in Aunt Lynsay's belly."

"So what did you say?" my own eyes widening in anticipate of his response. "What did you say?"

"Well, I had no clue. I mean, you told me, 'Don't worry Bry. She won't ask' " he said, using his best fake Jackie voice, " 'There's no way she'd ask'. Well, guess what Jac, She DID! And I was stuck, like a bumbling idiot, just stuck!"

"What did you say?" I asked, my stomach sinking.

"I told her mommies have eggs and daddies have seeds."

"Seeds?" I questioned, suppressing my laughter, "Seriously, you went with seeds?"

"I was not prepared for this Jac," his eyes focused and serious, "I thought it was better than SPERM!"

"True," I conceded, "so what else did you say."

"I told her daddies and mommies kiss. Then the daddies give the mommies their seed for their eggs. But then she got all confused, and I got flustered. I shouldn't have mentioned kissing. Seriously Jac, we should have talked about this. You should have been the one talking."

"Why didn't you ask her what she thinks?" I said. "Remember, we said that before, ask them what they think first! Always ask them what they think!"

"I was shocked, I mean, seriously, you told me not to worry about this" he strained, the stress of the event written across his face. "I stopped with the kissing, because she seemed confused, and then I figured, she'd be thinking a baby would end up in her belly if she kissed Maeve or me. God knows we don't need to stress her out anymore."

"True, so go on."

"So I went back and explained that kissing does not bring a baby. I told her the daddy gives the mommy his seed and then baby grows. Then she said something ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"She asked where mommies and daddies do this. I was honest and told her in the house. She then asked if she could watch."

I couldn't hold it in anymore, as the laughter filled the living room.

"Laugh" he smirked, "you weren't the one dealing with this."

"So what did you say? I mean she asked to watch her parents have sex!" I laughed.

"I told her it was private, and then she asked where she would be when it happens. I told her in her room. She then asked if it could happen when she had a sleepover with Grammie and Popsie, and I said sure, it could. She then asked if it could happen when she's with Grammie with the Bracelets. Again, I said sure. Then she asked where she could sleep at my mom's and I realized the conversation had shifted. I told her we'd let her sleep in Casey's room, with Maeve in the pack and play. She then said that was a good idea. I asked if she had any other questions, praying she was done, when she said no, kissed me on the cheek and told me she was ready to go to sleep. I don't believe it Jac. I can't believe this." he finished.

"So, in a nutshell our kid now thinks Dads have seeds, Mommies have eggs, and she can't watch daddy put the seed in mommy, but she'll be most likely in the house when it happens, right?" I asked. "Did I miss anything?"

"No, Jac. That's about it." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I do have one thing to add here. I will not be putting the girls to bed the next few nights. I can't handle anything more."

"What more could she ask, babe?" I asked. "I think you covered it all".

"Just in case," he said, "you've got bedtime the next three nights. I need a beer."

And that my friends, is how Mo learned about reproduction a week before her fourth birthday.

Linking up with the wonderful, the phenomenal, the fantastic Yeah Write community. These bloggers seriously write some of the best stuff on the blogosphere, leaving me in their dust. Show them some love, leave some comments, and on Thursday vote for the best. Feel free to take pity on me, and throw me some love too.