Throw Up Ruins Everything

When I used to work at the pediatric office a little more, people would often ask me if I was fearful of all the scary illnesses and diseases that kids can get. 

And I answered them honestly with a 'no.'

Uncommon and rare diseases are indeed uncommon and rare.

But one thing I do live in absolute fear of is:

THE STOMACH BUG.  The super common, not rare stomach bug.

Because throw up ruins everything.

Sheets. Plans. Fun. Your ability to smell anything and have it not smell like throw up.

We experienced a period of several weeks where throw up seemed to run the show

It was so ridiculous that it had to be recorded for us to remember (and hopefully laugh at) in the years to come.

Interspersed in the story are old pics of the boys from John's phone that he synced after 3 years of not syncing it.  

Because even now...as I am many days removed from any throw up, it still puts me in a foul/scared/I think I might be getting sick again mood.  Old pics of the boys always help.

So here is how throw up (and a few other things) ruined two weeks of our lives...

THURSDAY:  Charlie pukes one hour into our trip to NC to get our new puppy (another blog for another day).  

He is 18 months old.  So he doesn't know how to courtesy puke (in a toilet with a stereo blasting and a can of Lysol in hand to promptly rid the room of any vomit odor remnant.)

Instead, he went all out, full force, exorcist style in his Britax hand-wash only carseat. 

I make the call to turn around and head home.  

Charlie continues to get sick for a few more hours.  

John and older boys head back to NC to get the pup. 

FRIDAY:  New pup, John and older boys return home.  All is well.

Until...

SATURDAY:  We all go to Gigi's house to show off puppy.  

Finn says, "I don't feel so well" and heads to the toilet where he proceeds to open his mouth and yell at the toilet.  

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I don't KNOW! I've never thrown up before." says Finn.

"Ok. Well, do you feel bad?"  

"I don't know."

That was enough for us to load up the car and take along a bucket just. in. case.

Half-way home...

"Oh no!  It's back!!!"

In warp speed we are in a parking lot, Finn is jerked out of a car, and he figures out how to throw up.

SUNDAY:  Finn is doing well.  Charlie is great.  Everyone is happy, happy, happy. 

But we are riding out that fun 24 hour symptom free window where regardless of how sick your kiddo was the day before, they are perfectly fine and healthy and are bouncing off the walls.  

But you're stuck inside while your husband is at work and everyone on Instagram is posting their beach day pics. 

But...

The dog doesn't seem right.  

Yes.  The dog we have had less than 48 hours at this point.  

Not wanting to move.  Or eat.  Or drink.  Or do anything.  

Off to the vet we go.  They think he swallowed something.  X rays confirm that there is "something" in his abdomen that shouldn't be there.  Surgery is recommended.  Surgery is completed.

Nope.  He didn't swallow a stuffed animal.

He had an undescended testicle that wrapped around his intestines.

I can't make this up.

So...he had a premature neutering. He's half the man he used to be.

At least he's not vomiting.

MONDAY:  Dog comes home.  He acts like nothing happened.  No whining, no biting, no lamp shade collar.  Nada.  It's a miracle.  He's a champ.  Kids are at school.  No more 24 hour windows of symptom worry.  Life is good. 

Until...

WEDNESDAY:  I don't feel so well.  No.  This can't happen.  There is no plan B for moms.  You're on deck and you're at the plate. Every day. 

BUT, thankfully...when this all started back Thursday before, I decided that I would conquer the bug by not eating.  This is not anything I recommend necessarily, but it honestly worked for me.  I ate very, very little so that if/when the bug hit, it would be very disappointed with what it had to work with.  And I like to eat.  But when you have been thrown up on by more than one person in a short period of time, you'd be surprised that food isn't all that appealing.

I escaped the misery everyone else suffered and just had a rough night of pain but woke up knowing that I had passed the test!  

FRIDAY:  We start thinking that we have passed enough time that anyone else who might be getting sick would have already done so.

WRONG.

That night, the dog who just had emergency testicle-wrapped-around-his-guts surgery throws up.

Please note that John and I are scheduled to leave on Saturday at 7am for his mom's 60th bday (ADULTS ONLY) weekend in Atlanta.  I had a swat team of babysitters lined up.  Single spaced instructions typed out and ready.  Clothes laid out.  Bags packed. 

We chalk the dog throw up to having eaten some grass.  Yes.  Grass.  That's the ticket!

NO GO.  We wake up to more vomit in his crate on Saturday morning.  

Babysitters cancelled.  Kids mad when they wake up and see ol' mom instead of fun, young, cute babysitters.  There is no way around this.  Our dog is sick.  Again.

And no lie, as John is pulling out of the driveway heading to Atlanta, I'm walking the pup and the lawn sprinklers turn on and soak us.  

It was symbolic.

Our vet is out of town.  We schedule an appointment with another local vet for some x rays.  

I'm told that it's super unlikely for a dog to catch a virus from a human and that they need to rule out if he has swallowed something.  Here we go again. 

At this point, I had to get out of the house.  We went to lunch.  And all of the days of not eating much hit me and I was STARVING.  So, I ate like a starving person.  Huge sub, big drink, chips and probably most of the kids' leftovers, too.

Get to Petsmart where the vet is.  The reality that our brand new dog might have to have yet another expensive surgery begins to settle in.  And for me, my nervous settling takes place in my belly. 

So, as my dog begins to leave his diarrhea trail all over the store, it becomes obvious that my rebound eating frenzy is about to hit the eject button.  

And it does. 

But there's good news!  Doggie is FINE!  No obstruction.  He didn't swallow anything. 

He did get a stomach bug!  Yay, right?  So I pay the vet half of a semester's worth of college tuition circa 1999, and tell them I'm sorry for the mess. 

Instantly I feel better and start craving pancakes.  So the boys and I celebrate some good news with dinner at Cracker Barrel.  I even win the golf tee game without cheating. 

The stars are aligning.  We are on the way to a better day.

Until...

MONDAY:  I get woken up by Jack at 3:30.  Mom.  I threw up!

You have GOT to be kidding me. 

At this point, I have a preferred order of how I like to clean it up.  

Soak. Spray. Wipe. Spray. Wipe. 

Trash can at bedside.  Kiss on the forehead.  Wash hands.  Back to bed.  Go to sleep fast cause it's coming again. 

It comes again.

TUESDAY:  I download Candy Crush, and we play it all day.  Everyone is fine.  But we're in the 24 hour window.  Again.  We are house bound.  I am a lunatic.

WEDNESDAY:  Everyone is at school again.  We are all excited for baseball that night.  We get to be around people and breathe fresh air and get Ring Pops if we behave.  The Red Sox win big!  Jack goes 3 for 3.  Everyone is giddy.  We are leaving the ball park trying to make conversation with people just to see if we remember how after being hermits for so long.  John gives me a look that I usually interpret as, "Can you shut your pie hole already?  Quit talking because I'm HONGRY!" Except this time I misread the signal. This time he was trying to telepathically say to me, 

"I'm about to puke. Bye."

So, off he goes home to take care of business.  His strategically timed business.  What do I mean by that?  I mean he's off on Thursdays.  He got sick on a Wednesday.  How do dads time these things so well?  :)

So, there it is.  Our two weeks of heck in a handbasket. 

14 days.

5 sick people.

1 new dog. 

1 sick dog. Twice.

Roscoe P. Housetrained (Or Not)

There is a time for everything; and a season for every activity under the heavens. 

Ecclesiastes 3:1

From April 2012 to March 2013, the Ussery Jr. household experienced a season of Roscoe.

And before you get weepy on me, please note that the sweet lug you see below has not died.  

He is in his happiest state yet living with his original owner and trainer on a farm in North Carolina.

(Which "happens" to be about 15 minutes from my parents house!)

Here's the story of Roscoe and why he is no longer with us...

Roscoe came to us from family friends.  He was in need of some human interaction.

And if there is something our household is good for, it's human interaction.

We were grieving Scout but were ready to fill the void in our lives that only a pooch can fill. 

And my hair ball vacuuming biceps had atrophied greatly.  

So, we saw Roscoe as a great opportunity. 

But after a couple of months, his old age seemed to catch up with him.

And his hind quarters couldn't hold on to it's contents as well as one would hope.

And what I mean by that is......

he pooped in the house.

A lot.

In amount and frequency.

In his sleep.  In Finn's bed.

And despite diet changes, veterinary consults, frequent walks and sweet talking, the poor guy continued to have trouble with this. 

We considered an electrical fence so he could freely roam and relieve.

But while an electrical fence would keep him in, it would not keep our backyard reptile friend out.

So, we purchased a lot of carpet cleaner and forged on. 

Until one day when this little tyke found a Roscoe treasure in the house and picked it up. 

Ew.  I know.

So, yes.  Kids pick things up.  Dogs lose control.  These are two natural things in and of themselves.

But the two do not always mix well together.  

After several weeks of prepping the kids and putting some feelers out there for a good home for our black beauty, the heavens opened up and we learned that Roscoe's original trainer (Roscoe was a hot shot hunting dog back in his prime) was ready for a companion dog. 

So our season of Roscoe came to a bittersweet end.

I really wasn't excited to blog about Roscoe.  Not because I'm bitter about the stained carpets. Or because Jack might see some pictures of him and cry (which he might and that's okay), but because I do feel like we failed him somehow. 

And because I was excited to have a sweet, lasting relationship with him.  And that was cut short.

(And because the pet adoption/rescue people will look on us with scorn.  Much like the volunteer lady at the local pet rescue farm who heard about our situation and politely (sarcasm) suggested that we might best be suited to get a stuffed animal instead of a real, breathing, poop machine.  Clearly she did not see the episode of "Strange Addictions" where the couple who couldn't have a baby started collecting Cabbage Patch Kid dolls and ended up hosting playdates with their "son" whom they spoke for in baby talk.)

We will revisit dogdom at some point.  

Perhaps when we have invested in some hardwoods.

And maybe when Charlie exits the pick up everything and put it in your mouth age.

Until then...we will visit our ol' boy down at the farm!

We'll just watch where we step:)

If you Give a Boy an Oyster

If you give a boy an oyster...

there is a 100% chance that he will note that it looks like a booger.

Or poop.

Or snot.  

Because that's what boys do.  

If you give a boy (even a little tiny baby boy) something to climb on, he will climb to the highest spot and jump.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

If a little brother becomes a big brother one day, he will dress his unsuspecting baby brother in goofy costumes.

And then blame it on the big brother.

If you give three boys some popcorn and a football game, maybe....just maybe

 they will sit still long enough for you to unload the dishwasher.

If you leave Finn alone with some paper and a pen, there is a decent chance he will leave you a little note.

Not a musical note.

Not a love note.

But something along these lines....

Yep. 

Butt Face.

A little note he left on his Poppy Johnny's desk one night.

Awww.

If you give a boy a brother, he'll probably really dislike him sometimes, jerk toys from his hands, not take turns, push him, tattle on him, tell him he's going to take pictures of him eating boogers and send it to his friends, moon him, and drink the last sip of his favorite Gatorade. 

(all happened today)

But there will be moments when he's not that bad.

And his legs might be long enough to push the swing for the two of you.

And if you give a mom a son, she might just want another one. 

Aaaaand.... then another one.

All we know around here is boy.  

And it can really wear us the heck out sometimes.

Fart and butt are woven so effortlessly into conversation that I rarely even notice anymore.

If someone made a movie about us, the soundtrack wouldn't consist of actual songs, but just a basketball bouncing.  And a few burps.

Rumor has it machine pitch baseball players have to wear cups this year.  Jack is playing machine pitch.  BLEH!

I have literally found two dead frogs in my car.  At different times.

I could keep going, but I will stop there.

Because it's plain to see:

Boys are awesome.

Yuletidal

Christmas is FUN.  

Parties.  School performances.  Gifts.  Giving.  Decorations.  Christmas Lights. (Aside: Christmas lights make everything look amazing: homes, trees, your face.  WHY are they reserved for only a month or so out of the year?  They are white, so they're not season specific. Anyone feel me on this?)

Christmas is ROUTINE.

There you are again.  At the office party.  In the same house as last year.  You're talking to someone's husband.  You don't know his name.  Then you think, "Oh shoot. I'm pretty sure I wore this same outfit last year." So you say forget it and eat another sausage ball.

Christmas is SACRED.

God gave us His Son.  It's His birthday.  Yet that gets lost in the shuffle, doesn't it? 

Christmas is NOSTALGIC.

Even though you're married and have your own family to bake and buy for, you still think of your family back home.  You wonder what they're doing at the family get togethers.  You're jealous that they're likely wearing sweaters because they actually need to.  Meanwhile you're making your own tradition of building a sandman instead of a snowman.  

Christmas 2012 was all of these things and more.  We couldn't ignore the blessings we were given, big and small, and we will always look back with fondness of the memories we made.  

Here are a few.  Just so we can remember!

Finn was especially into the Christmas spirit this year.  He proudly showed this picture he colored and said: 

"I totally Gangnam styled this tree, Mom."

The proverbial terrible Santa photo.  

Poor Charlie looks like he has been hypnotized.

When Finn learned that Santa was making an appearance at school, he disappeared into his room and returned with this outfit.  

Well played, my friend.

Santa #2:  Bluffton Academy.

Charlie came out of his hypnotic state and peeked.

The boys and I traveled to Greensboro for a few days before Christmas.  

This was the first time in years that we have been home for our family gatherings.  

I have always missed attending these.  I just hadn't realized how much.

One afternoon, we swept cousin Ava up for some Christmas crafting and Krispy Kreme-ing.

At one point, she looked up at me and with little emotion simply stated, "I'm having fun."

No smile. No frills.  Just the plain ol' truth. 

Love that girl. 

Mantle posing with the cousins. 

Yes, Charlie wore suspenders.

Uncle Matt transformed into a human train for all of the cousins.  

Every family needs an Uncle Matt.

I can't remember him leaving a family event where he wasn't drenched in sweat.

Santa #3: 

This Santa surprised the cousins on Christmas Eve at Gigi's house.  

He didn't mess around.

He showed the kids a pretty detailed list of their Naughties and Nicies.

The car ride home was the best behaved all year.  They weren't quite sure where the chips would fall.

And finally, the event we've all been shopping for:

CHRISTMAS MORNING!

(This is where I would have put the photo of the boys waking up and being surprised, but they beat us to the chase and we missed it.  #Christmasmorningphotofail)

This was one of Charlie's gifts.  

It looks like a circus on wheels.  

Pretty ridiculous(ly cute).

 It was a fun morning. 

Seeing their smiles.

Their newfound manners that are a result of pure giddiness.

Two thumbs up.

John's favorite gift of the day was his Stamey's shirt.  

And yes, he is still smokin'.

Jack lost his two front teeth.

And don't worry.  His face did not melt this Christmas.

It's his favorite party trick.

One of the few cool things that comes with wearing glasses.

Holiday Hammocking with cousin Austin. 

His personality matches his cuteness.

New Years Eve was pretty lame. 

I wasn't aware that the boys even knew what was going on, so I took the easy way out and didn't plan a thing.  Around noon that day, Jack asked, "So what do you have planned for tonight since it's New Year's Eve?"

Uh?

Thankfully I purchased some brownie mix months ago and Return of the Jedi happened to come on that night. 

Crisis averted.

Happy New Year.

So, 2013, what's in store?!?!?

I Still Want a HUUULA HOOP...

I love some lyric confusion.  Like REALLY love it.  (i.e. Hold me closer Tony Danza as opposed to Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.)  Well...

(Just in case you needed a visual.  Can't you just hear him saying, "Angeluh?" or "Sumanthuh?)

Finn and I were driving down the road last week, rocking out to some Alvin and the Chipmunks.  I'm not sure of the exact song title, but it's the one that goes, "I still want a huuuula hooop....We can hardly stand the wait. Please Christmas don't be late." The song was on repeat and we had listened to it probably 3-4 times at this point.  Long enough for my throat to be a little sore from trying to sing like the Chipmunks.  Finn graciously took over so I didn't have to break out the Chloraseptic, and here is his rendition:

"We can hardly stand the wait. Please Christmas Dongey Day."

E: "Finn.  Dongey Day?"

F:  "Uh...yeah. (Eye roll to signify idiot mom.)

E:  "Do you mean Donkey Day?" (not that this changes things too much, but donkey definitely trumps whatever dongey is, and knowing Finn he would somehow link it to the census in the Bible and how it's possible that Mary had to ride a donkey to Bethlehem.)

F:  "No.  That wouldn't make any sense."

E:  "Then please explain Dongey Day to me."

F:  "Easy.  It's like when they say 'We can hardly stand the wait please Christmas Dongey Day."

E:  "OK"

I then went on to explain to Finnster that he reminded me a little bit of Alvin.  The characteristics I chose to tell him about were his leadership abilities, creativity and enthusiasm.  The parts I left out may or may not have included the word mischief.  Because that would have thrilled him.  After laughing on the inside at the fact that Finn can drive me mad sometimes...I kind of love the fact that he is an Alvin type.  Every family has an Alvin, and while you'll complain how nutty the Alvin-type can make you...you wouldn't have it any other way.

Then it dawned on me.  Oh. my. word.  Not only had I given birth to an Alvin, but a Simon:

The guy who keeps us all in line, sees the world in black in white, is pretty dang smart, and if our kids were performing artists like the Chipmunks, he would be the one to get us to the concerts on time.  Just like Simon.

Oh, yeah, and he's tall and wears glasses and coincidentally a lot of blue.  

And we can't leave out Theodore.  

The chubby little guy who waddles along behind the gang.  Sweet spirited and loves to eat.  Hates wearing pants.  Our sweet sweet Charlie.

This discovery led to several other thoughts:

1.  Am I Dave?  Is John Dave?

2.  WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THIS AT HALLOWEEN!?!?

3.  Is this our future?.....

( I can already tell you, I'm not going to like that sassy one in the pink. )

  

John and I love to talk about our boys' differences.  We experience their uniqueness on a daily basis.  Several days ago, Jack came to us and asked us to spell "eternally" for him.  He was writing a love note to his kindergarten teacher from last year.  Finn came to us less than a minute later and asked us to spell, "bomb exploding".  He was creating a crime scene and thankfully explained that he was the cop who would save everyone from harm. Whew.

Thank you, Lord, that we're not all the same.  That would be a disaster.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Oh, and Happy Dongey Day.  Obviously.

And if you were curious, the amazing pictures of our boys were taken by Janet Powell of

Silly Goose Photography.  If you hail from Bluffton, you likely know her, but if you ever visit the area, she's a great one to call for some fun family photos!