This isn't a real post. This is me being overwhelmed and, therefore, WAY behind on everything. Hi! How ya doin'?
The past month has been one long sick-fest in this house. (Hence the month-long break in any sort of posting or writing 'round here.) The Big One caught a nasty case of 90-year-old-emphysema-hack at preschool, and then he brought it home. And he shared. He shared with all of us. So kind to share.
So then the Little One caught it, and it turned quickly into croup. Goddamn, croup is the worst. It's terrifying and sad and means that the croupy kid gets zero sleep. Which means that one or both parents get zero sleep. Which usually means that one or both parents get the thing that started the croup. Which is exactly what happened. Sonofabitch.
Thankfully, this round of croup only lasted about three days, but the hack and runny nose and generally shittyness lasted well beyond that. All told, we were stuck at home because of one kid or another for two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Have you ever been stuck in house with two sick kids and a sick you for two godawful weeks? Let me give you some ground-breaking information: It sucks.
We watched so much PBS Kids and Sprout and Disney Jr. that I thought all of our brains were going to explode. Even the KIDS got tired of T.V. That does not happen. There was water, and tea and juice and soup and no one wanted any of it. There were blankets and kleenex and snot smears on everything. And whining. So. Much. Whining. The kids were whiny, too.
And then, just when everyone started to get better and feel human again, the Big One got nauseous on the swings during a park date with his dad, and puked all over the car. And you know what sucks even more than two weeks of house arrest? Puke in a car. And trying to get puke OUT of a car. It's no small feat, my friends. Booster seat covers- not washable. Actual seats in the car? Spot clean, only. Seat belts? IMPOSSIBLE TO CLEAN. Even the end-all, be-all of puke cleaning- the MAGICAL Nature's Miracle (no seriously, it is amazing, and they didn't even pay me to say that)- couldn't get the puke smell out of the seat belt. That little bugger got soaked 3 times AND wiped down with soap and water AND got a good Febreezing... and it still smells a bit vomity.
If you teach your children nothing else, teach them to vomit AWAY from the seat belt.
Or, better yet, teach them to TELL YOU when they're going to vomit.
But you guys, in spite of all those bodily fluids and all the whining and the general ick, something amazing happened. Some good came out of this darkness.
And here it is: The Little One learned to use his Coughing Corner. It's a whole new world, people.
* * *
And here are some cute things my kids are saying lately:
Little One
-fweet = sweet
-pupcakes = cupcakes
-fweeszers = scissors
-schrank = drink
While eating a salami sandwich: "Lawmi! Deeeeewishus!"
Big One
- mackin = napkin
-Explaining digestion: "When you eat something, if it's too hot, you spit it out. If it's too cold, you spit it out. If it's just right, you swallow it and it goes down your mouth, into your froat, and into your belly. Then it goes around your belly, to your pooper section."
Your pooper section. The more you know, people!
Showing posts with label puking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label puking. Show all posts
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Night Terrors, Nursemaid's Elbow, Barf and Fireworks... OH MY.
Well. That was a week.
Last week was tricky. Last week was tricky enough that I couldn't really write about it until this week.
Hi Last Week! I'm looking at you with some distance! I have perspective! And you still suck!
First up: Our first foray into night terrors.
I had heard of night terrors and know a few people whose kids have had them, but I didn't know any real details. I was hoping we might have passed that window.
We did not pass that window. Apparently, that window is open.
I was watching T.V. one day last week while my husband was out running errands, and I heard this strange gaspy noise over the monitor. It was quick, and I wasn't sure what I'd heard, so I turned down the sound on the T.V. and listened closely. I heard it again- a strange, sudden gasping- followed by a sudden cry. I jumped off the couch and ran to the Big One's room, where I found him gasping and panting, looking panicked on his bed. I asked him if he was okay, if he'd had a bad dream, and he started to sob. He started to cry so hard that he began to hyperventilate- something he's done since he was a tiny baby- and then started to cough and gag and choke on the coughs. I pulled him into my lap and he pushed me away; trying to calm him only seemed to make it worse. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I wasn't sure if he was terrified from some awful dream, or if he was having his first asthma attack (his father has asthma and I'm constantly terrified that he'll get it as well), or if something was seriously, frighteningly wrong.
In the middle of this, my husband walked in the door and saw what was going on. He was equally confused and also tried to comfort our son, but got the same reaction. It only seemed to upset the Big One more. We asked if he wanted to lie down and sleep, and he said yes, and then hiccuped and gasped himself to sleep. We must have checked on him eight times before going to bed that night, but he seemed fine. His breathing normalized fairly quickly and he slept fine the rest of the night.
In the morning, I asked him about this episode, asked him if he'd had a bad dream. He had no idea what I was talking about. This child has a freaky memory. He can literally remember things from when he was two years old. He ALWAYS remembers his dreams. Of this most horrifying experience, he had no recollection. Nothing. Nada. It was at that point that I realized it might be night terrors. I asked some friends and Dr. Google and realized that was likely the case. Night terrors.
The next night the exact same thing happened. Identical. Except this time, we'd read a couple articles and listened to some advice. We tried not to touch him much or talk to him too much. We tried to just sit with him and quietly coo at him until he calmed on his own and went back to sleep. Again, he remembered nothing in the morning.
I supposed it's good that they don't remember these things in the morning. I think it's better that they don't recall the look of terror and helplessness on their parents' faces. Night terrors are scary, but I'm relieved that it isn't my son that's terrorized by them.
* * *
Hi. Feeling upbeat? Cheery? FILLED WITH UNICORNS AND GLITTER?!? No? Okay. That'll happen later.
SO. Last week the kids also caught a lovely summer bug, which resulted in high fevers and the Little One's first barf. After eating strawberries. And taking cherry Tylenol. Can you picture it? YOU'RE WELCOME. The poor kid puked bright pink vomit all over himself, the couch, and the bathroom and scared the bejeezus out of himself. Did I mention it was also the hottest week we've had this summer- mid-90s- and we have no air-conditioning and no cross-breeze? Mmm hmmm. Nothing quite like the smell of fresh vomit on a hot day.
This bug went from one kid to the next, and we were down for the count for a full week. Stuck in a house that smelled like barf on the hottest days of the year with fevers. And half the couch out of commission. It was swell. But they got better!! And Nature's Miracle really is a miracle and took the vomit right out of our couch. Seriously, it's amazing stuff.
* * *
SO, also. Ever heard of nursemaid's elbow? It's super common, and it's super fucked up. It's a partial dislocation of the elbow that you can find out more about here, but all you really need to know is: #1. It can happen when you swing young kids around by their arms, lift them quickly by the hands, wrists, or arms, or if they go boneless while holding your hand (and you try to hang on to their hand OR lift them by the hand). #2. It really hurts the kiddo and makes you feel like shit if you're the one holding the kid when it happens.. #3. Once it happens, it WILL happen again.
The Little One has now partially dislocated his elbow FOUR times. FOUR. And it sucks, you guys. There is screaming and crying and pathetic whimpering. There is cradling of the arm and looking at me like, "Why won't you make this stop?!?!" IT SUCKS.
This time- the FOURTH time- the Big One did it. It was totally an accident, they were just playing and the Little One reached out and the Big One grabbed his arms and pulled and I yelled for him to stop and it was already done. I knew before he even cried. It happens so quickly and easily now.
Last time, the third time it happened, we were at the Big One's birthday party and friend was there who happens to be a doctor. He did a little research on the spot and fixed it right then and there. And he showed us how. It was quick and seemed easy and once it's fixed it's all better.
So, this time, the Little One was whimpering on my lap while the Big One was intermittently hiding in his room and bringing apology offerings of blankies and stuffed animals, and there I was on the internet refreshing my memory for how to do this. And wondering whether I could do this. Can I reset my own child's elbow? Can I? NO. Yes? No? Yes.
I went back and forth wondering which was worse: Was it worse to drag my two and half year old hurting son downstairs, torque his dislocated elbow into a car seat, drive him (crying) to Urgent Care, and wait for who knows how long for them to snap it right back into place? OR was it worse for me to try and do this when, really, I have no idea what I'm doing.
I decided the former would suck more. I don't know if it was the responsible choice, but it was the choice I needed to make.
I'd watched two doctors fix his elbow one semi-complicated way in Urgent Care, and I'd watched my friend (and his research video) do it another, easier looking way. I decided to go the easier looking route. I looked up a million different tutorials on how to do this and finally found one with very clear pictures that made sense to me.
The hard part was trying to hold my poor boy still enough to get a proper hold on his hurt arm. It was awful right up until I did it. But it was quick. And I did it. I popped my son's elbow back into place and I watched the immediate relief. And then I cried into his hair as he reached for his lovey with the arm that he had just been unwilling to move. I did it. We did it. I did it.
Nursemaid's elbow sucks. I know it will probably happen again. And I know I'll probably have to fix it again. And I do not look forward to that.
Be careful with your squishies. They are small and much more fragile than they seem.
* * *
Okay, STILL not filled with unicorns and kittens and rainbows and poufy clouds and sunshine? No? BUT THIS HAS BEEN SUCH A HAPPY, UPBEAT POST!!! Eh em. Okay. It's coming. Really. Here.
SO, also, also. Fourth of July happened in there. While the kids were sick. And everyone was exhausted. And our house still smelled like puke. And no one was sleeping. BUT. Because no one was sleeping, we got to watch the fireworks with the Big One. And that. That, my friends, was amazing. Watching his little eyes grow wide in the dark while he listened to these strange sounds- sounds that scared him- and watched the lights bursting in the sky.... Well... that made us forget about all of the crappy stuff. We bundled together on the balcony and drank hot cocoa and stayed up way past our bedtimes and talked and talked and talked. And we watched the fireworks. Together. And we hugged the whole time.
* * *
Once again, this post has NOT been sponsored in any way by Nature's Miracle. I'm just really, really glad it took the puke out of my couch. Like, REALLY glad.
Last week was tricky. Last week was tricky enough that I couldn't really write about it until this week.
Hi Last Week! I'm looking at you with some distance! I have perspective! And you still suck!
First up: Our first foray into night terrors.
I had heard of night terrors and know a few people whose kids have had them, but I didn't know any real details. I was hoping we might have passed that window.
We did not pass that window. Apparently, that window is open.
I was watching T.V. one day last week while my husband was out running errands, and I heard this strange gaspy noise over the monitor. It was quick, and I wasn't sure what I'd heard, so I turned down the sound on the T.V. and listened closely. I heard it again- a strange, sudden gasping- followed by a sudden cry. I jumped off the couch and ran to the Big One's room, where I found him gasping and panting, looking panicked on his bed. I asked him if he was okay, if he'd had a bad dream, and he started to sob. He started to cry so hard that he began to hyperventilate- something he's done since he was a tiny baby- and then started to cough and gag and choke on the coughs. I pulled him into my lap and he pushed me away; trying to calm him only seemed to make it worse. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I wasn't sure if he was terrified from some awful dream, or if he was having his first asthma attack (his father has asthma and I'm constantly terrified that he'll get it as well), or if something was seriously, frighteningly wrong.
In the middle of this, my husband walked in the door and saw what was going on. He was equally confused and also tried to comfort our son, but got the same reaction. It only seemed to upset the Big One more. We asked if he wanted to lie down and sleep, and he said yes, and then hiccuped and gasped himself to sleep. We must have checked on him eight times before going to bed that night, but he seemed fine. His breathing normalized fairly quickly and he slept fine the rest of the night.
In the morning, I asked him about this episode, asked him if he'd had a bad dream. He had no idea what I was talking about. This child has a freaky memory. He can literally remember things from when he was two years old. He ALWAYS remembers his dreams. Of this most horrifying experience, he had no recollection. Nothing. Nada. It was at that point that I realized it might be night terrors. I asked some friends and Dr. Google and realized that was likely the case. Night terrors.
The next night the exact same thing happened. Identical. Except this time, we'd read a couple articles and listened to some advice. We tried not to touch him much or talk to him too much. We tried to just sit with him and quietly coo at him until he calmed on his own and went back to sleep. Again, he remembered nothing in the morning.
I supposed it's good that they don't remember these things in the morning. I think it's better that they don't recall the look of terror and helplessness on their parents' faces. Night terrors are scary, but I'm relieved that it isn't my son that's terrorized by them.
* * *
Hi. Feeling upbeat? Cheery? FILLED WITH UNICORNS AND GLITTER?!? No? Okay. That'll happen later.
SO. Last week the kids also caught a lovely summer bug, which resulted in high fevers and the Little One's first barf. After eating strawberries. And taking cherry Tylenol. Can you picture it? YOU'RE WELCOME. The poor kid puked bright pink vomit all over himself, the couch, and the bathroom and scared the bejeezus out of himself. Did I mention it was also the hottest week we've had this summer- mid-90s- and we have no air-conditioning and no cross-breeze? Mmm hmmm. Nothing quite like the smell of fresh vomit on a hot day.
This bug went from one kid to the next, and we were down for the count for a full week. Stuck in a house that smelled like barf on the hottest days of the year with fevers. And half the couch out of commission. It was swell. But they got better!! And Nature's Miracle really is a miracle and took the vomit right out of our couch. Seriously, it's amazing stuff.
* * *
SO, also. Ever heard of nursemaid's elbow? It's super common, and it's super fucked up. It's a partial dislocation of the elbow that you can find out more about here, but all you really need to know is: #1. It can happen when you swing young kids around by their arms, lift them quickly by the hands, wrists, or arms, or if they go boneless while holding your hand (and you try to hang on to their hand OR lift them by the hand). #2. It really hurts the kiddo and makes you feel like shit if you're the one holding the kid when it happens.. #3. Once it happens, it WILL happen again.
The Little One has now partially dislocated his elbow FOUR times. FOUR. And it sucks, you guys. There is screaming and crying and pathetic whimpering. There is cradling of the arm and looking at me like, "Why won't you make this stop?!?!" IT SUCKS.
This time- the FOURTH time- the Big One did it. It was totally an accident, they were just playing and the Little One reached out and the Big One grabbed his arms and pulled and I yelled for him to stop and it was already done. I knew before he even cried. It happens so quickly and easily now.
Last time, the third time it happened, we were at the Big One's birthday party and friend was there who happens to be a doctor. He did a little research on the spot and fixed it right then and there. And he showed us how. It was quick and seemed easy and once it's fixed it's all better.
So, this time, the Little One was whimpering on my lap while the Big One was intermittently hiding in his room and bringing apology offerings of blankies and stuffed animals, and there I was on the internet refreshing my memory for how to do this. And wondering whether I could do this. Can I reset my own child's elbow? Can I? NO. Yes? No? Yes.
I went back and forth wondering which was worse: Was it worse to drag my two and half year old hurting son downstairs, torque his dislocated elbow into a car seat, drive him (crying) to Urgent Care, and wait for who knows how long for them to snap it right back into place? OR was it worse for me to try and do this when, really, I have no idea what I'm doing.
I decided the former would suck more. I don't know if it was the responsible choice, but it was the choice I needed to make.
I'd watched two doctors fix his elbow one semi-complicated way in Urgent Care, and I'd watched my friend (and his research video) do it another, easier looking way. I decided to go the easier looking route. I looked up a million different tutorials on how to do this and finally found one with very clear pictures that made sense to me.
The hard part was trying to hold my poor boy still enough to get a proper hold on his hurt arm. It was awful right up until I did it. But it was quick. And I did it. I popped my son's elbow back into place and I watched the immediate relief. And then I cried into his hair as he reached for his lovey with the arm that he had just been unwilling to move. I did it. We did it. I did it.
Nursemaid's elbow sucks. I know it will probably happen again. And I know I'll probably have to fix it again. And I do not look forward to that.
Be careful with your squishies. They are small and much more fragile than they seem.
* * *
Okay, STILL not filled with unicorns and kittens and rainbows and poufy clouds and sunshine? No? BUT THIS HAS BEEN SUCH A HAPPY, UPBEAT POST!!! Eh em. Okay. It's coming. Really. Here.
SO, also, also. Fourth of July happened in there. While the kids were sick. And everyone was exhausted. And our house still smelled like puke. And no one was sleeping. BUT. Because no one was sleeping, we got to watch the fireworks with the Big One. And that. That, my friends, was amazing. Watching his little eyes grow wide in the dark while he listened to these strange sounds- sounds that scared him- and watched the lights bursting in the sky.... Well... that made us forget about all of the crappy stuff. We bundled together on the balcony and drank hot cocoa and stayed up way past our bedtimes and talked and talked and talked. And we watched the fireworks. Together. And we hugged the whole time.
So there. Warm and squishy, after all.
* * *
Once again, this post has NOT been sponsored in any way by Nature's Miracle. I'm just really, really glad it took the puke out of my couch. Like, REALLY glad.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Vasectomies, Barfing and Snow!!! Oh My!
Know what's super awesome? A family handling a vasectomy, stomach flu, and Snowmaggedon all in one week. Of course that's how it went. I'll be honest- this week could have gone better. Not quite what we were anticipating when we scheduled my husband's vasectomy.
Oh, by the way: My husband had a vasectomy last Friday... Friday the 13th. Ominous, no?
Nope! For us, it was a day of joy, laughter and happiness. Tears of exaltation. A day of pure celebration. There were a few tiny nerves, but mostly 'twas a day that meant, "HUZZAH!!! No more fear! No more waiting in terror! No more surprise pregnancies!" Until my husband came limping out of the operating room with bandages and ice on his balls. Then it was probably not going to be so much a day of celebration for him (but still for me!! Sorry, honey).
This is not to say that we do not adore our children. We do. We love them completely and unequivocally. Each of us has exploded with love for each little boy and we are overcome each and every day with their awesomeness. We love them so much that we don't want to dilute our love any more. So.... VASECTOMY!!!!! We are also ready to rid my body (and our environment... think of the fish!!) of the artificial hormones I've been riddled with since I was eighteen. My husband is a badass feminist and thinks it's bullshit that women have to deal with all body modification in order to prevent pregnancy. I concur, so all done. Goodbye, pills. Vasectomy!!!
All was going well. We were icing the balls, taking it easy, chillaxing even. Until Saturday night at midnight. That's when the puking began. We woke to the sound of our toddler whimpering. My husband went in to see what was going on and promptly got puked on. (My poor husband ALWAYS gets puked on. I am grateful for his sacrifice.) He carried the crying, barfing boy into the bathroom while I stealthily stripped his bed, shoved all the bedding into the washing machine, and remade the bed. In the dark. While one child cried and puked and the other screamed because he awoke to the screeching of a frightened brother. It was good times.
After about an hour of barfing, we finally managed to get our toddler calmed down and into new clothes. The barfing had ceased and the poor little guy was exhausted, so he asked to go to bed. We tucked him in and crawled back into bed a little after one in the morning. (Did I mention we'd had a friend over that night who had brought with him a colossal bottle of wine? And that my husband doesn't drink? So it was left to me to help tax that bottle of wine? Wait... you're saying we didn't have to finish it? I didn't want to be rude. It was POLITE to help him finish it. Geez.) Half an hour later we awoke to more whimpering and another hour long puke session. And repeat. And repeat again. By the end of the four hours, my toddler couldn't even hold himself up. He just collapsed into my lap and I held him like a baby between retches. Saddest thing on the planet. He was begging to go to bed, but he just kept heaving. I stroked his hair and did the best I could to reassure him that it would end eventually. A little after four a.m., his dry heaves disippated and he sank into me and fell asleep. We tucked him in, knocked on every surface of wood we saw, and crawled back into our bed hoping for the end of it.
The next morning he woke up hungry and asked for several different things for breakfast. He was low energy and didn't eat much all day, but he seemed fine. We were sure he was on the mend. Funny, right? As we were getting him ready for bed, round two. Nothing like a little projectile vomit right after dinner. Par-tay. After two rounds, he seemed to be feeling better, so we jumped in the shower with him where he proceeded to sing and dance. Kids are mighty weird little creatures. We took it easy, but he went to bed fine and has been puke-free (knock on wood) ever since.
Then, came the snow. As my husband and I were inching around the stomach flu and chugging vitamin C-rich liquids like our lives depended on it, the forecast came for a likely snow storm. Then it changed to "Snowmaggedon" (which should clearly be followed by a menacing buh-buh-buh-BUM). But here's the thing. Seattle has a tendency to predict these kinds of things, only to see a smattering of snowflakes that melt upon impact. Generally, I find myself deeply disappointed. And frankly, between all the vomit and the ball icing, I wasn't in the mood to get my hopes up for a lovely winter wonderland. As expected, Tuesday came and went with nary a snowflake. LAME. But then the newscasters predicted major snowfall. Six to twelve inches at least. Snowmaggedon. Snowpocolypse. A MAJOR SNOWMERGENCY!!! And then slowly all of the school districts started to close. Hmm....
We awoke the next morning to a few inches of snow, and it was still falling. It fell all day, all night, and all the next day. Honestly, it was beautiful. Having grown up with snow in Northern Idaho, I find that miss it every winter. I don't miss all the crap that comes along with it (like the shoveling), but it's just so beautiful. And there is nothing on the planet like watching a kid- let alone your kid- gallivant around in the whiteness.
We enjoyed Snowmaggedon around here. The snow stuck around for a couple of days and then melted away. And we didn't have to shovel a thing. And my husband's classes were all cancelled, thereby allowing his balls to heal. Win, win. For us, it was a nice addition to a weird week.
So, not exactly the week we had imagined. But there was some good stuff in there, and we got to spend some time together as a family. Nobody felt great and it wasn't exactly what I would call relaxing, but the snow brought us a nice escape. And we were lucky enough not to lose power. Could have been worse!!
Oh, by the way: My husband had a vasectomy last Friday... Friday the 13th. Ominous, no?
Nope! For us, it was a day of joy, laughter and happiness. Tears of exaltation. A day of pure celebration. There were a few tiny nerves, but mostly 'twas a day that meant, "HUZZAH!!! No more fear! No more waiting in terror! No more surprise pregnancies!" Until my husband came limping out of the operating room with bandages and ice on his balls. Then it was probably not going to be so much a day of celebration for him (but still for me!! Sorry, honey).
This is not to say that we do not adore our children. We do. We love them completely and unequivocally. Each of us has exploded with love for each little boy and we are overcome each and every day with their awesomeness. We love them so much that we don't want to dilute our love any more. So.... VASECTOMY!!!!! We are also ready to rid my body (and our environment... think of the fish!!) of the artificial hormones I've been riddled with since I was eighteen. My husband is a badass feminist and thinks it's bullshit that women have to deal with all body modification in order to prevent pregnancy. I concur, so all done. Goodbye, pills. Vasectomy!!!
All was going well. We were icing the balls, taking it easy, chillaxing even. Until Saturday night at midnight. That's when the puking began. We woke to the sound of our toddler whimpering. My husband went in to see what was going on and promptly got puked on. (My poor husband ALWAYS gets puked on. I am grateful for his sacrifice.) He carried the crying, barfing boy into the bathroom while I stealthily stripped his bed, shoved all the bedding into the washing machine, and remade the bed. In the dark. While one child cried and puked and the other screamed because he awoke to the screeching of a frightened brother. It was good times.
After about an hour of barfing, we finally managed to get our toddler calmed down and into new clothes. The barfing had ceased and the poor little guy was exhausted, so he asked to go to bed. We tucked him in and crawled back into bed a little after one in the morning. (Did I mention we'd had a friend over that night who had brought with him a colossal bottle of wine? And that my husband doesn't drink? So it was left to me to help tax that bottle of wine? Wait... you're saying we didn't have to finish it? I didn't want to be rude. It was POLITE to help him finish it. Geez.) Half an hour later we awoke to more whimpering and another hour long puke session. And repeat. And repeat again. By the end of the four hours, my toddler couldn't even hold himself up. He just collapsed into my lap and I held him like a baby between retches. Saddest thing on the planet. He was begging to go to bed, but he just kept heaving. I stroked his hair and did the best I could to reassure him that it would end eventually. A little after four a.m., his dry heaves disippated and he sank into me and fell asleep. We tucked him in, knocked on every surface of wood we saw, and crawled back into our bed hoping for the end of it.
The next morning he woke up hungry and asked for several different things for breakfast. He was low energy and didn't eat much all day, but he seemed fine. We were sure he was on the mend. Funny, right? As we were getting him ready for bed, round two. Nothing like a little projectile vomit right after dinner. Par-tay. After two rounds, he seemed to be feeling better, so we jumped in the shower with him where he proceeded to sing and dance. Kids are mighty weird little creatures. We took it easy, but he went to bed fine and has been puke-free (knock on wood) ever since.
Then, came the snow. As my husband and I were inching around the stomach flu and chugging vitamin C-rich liquids like our lives depended on it, the forecast came for a likely snow storm. Then it changed to "Snowmaggedon" (which should clearly be followed by a menacing buh-buh-buh-BUM). But here's the thing. Seattle has a tendency to predict these kinds of things, only to see a smattering of snowflakes that melt upon impact. Generally, I find myself deeply disappointed. And frankly, between all the vomit and the ball icing, I wasn't in the mood to get my hopes up for a lovely winter wonderland. As expected, Tuesday came and went with nary a snowflake. LAME. But then the newscasters predicted major snowfall. Six to twelve inches at least. Snowmaggedon. Snowpocolypse. A MAJOR SNOWMERGENCY!!! And then slowly all of the school districts started to close. Hmm....
We awoke the next morning to a few inches of snow, and it was still falling. It fell all day, all night, and all the next day. Honestly, it was beautiful. Having grown up with snow in Northern Idaho, I find that miss it every winter. I don't miss all the crap that comes along with it (like the shoveling), but it's just so beautiful. And there is nothing on the planet like watching a kid- let alone your kid- gallivant around in the whiteness.
We enjoyed Snowmaggedon around here. The snow stuck around for a couple of days and then melted away. And we didn't have to shovel a thing. And my husband's classes were all cancelled, thereby allowing his balls to heal. Win, win. For us, it was a nice addition to a weird week.
So, not exactly the week we had imagined. But there was some good stuff in there, and we got to spend some time together as a family. Nobody felt great and it wasn't exactly what I would call relaxing, but the snow brought us a nice escape. And we were lucky enough not to lose power. Could have been worse!!
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