Alrighty, since my last post garnered way more sympathy texts than laughs, I thought I should disclose that:
1) I am OK, we are OK and
2) I am trying to be funny. PLEASE LAUGH (even if you also want to cry). And if you do cry, please lie to me and tell me you laughed!
I also want to reiterate that the story about everyone puking was from a few months ago. We had been healthy for at least a week by the time I wrote that. As luck would have it, the day after posting it, Charlie started throwing up all night long (knocking on wood never works). Then a few days later (Valentine's Day to be exact), Trevor started puking, and the next day Phoebe started puking... It just so happens that puking and not sleeping seem to be the only "funny" things going on over here!
It is gross, it is tiring, but it is still pretty funny. However, if you do not laugh, it is not funny. SO PLEASE LAUGH!
I was going back through some of my notes to find other things that were funny-but-not-funny that I had been meaning to write about. One note said, "she's in the garbage sucking on someone's dirty q-tip." But with no other context clues, I have no recollection of what that was about...
Another funny-but-not-funny story came from a one of the first nights home from the hospital as a family of 4. Here is ow that particularly "fun" evening went:
8:30pm: changing infant diaper in the bathroom while toddler takes a dump on the potty.
8:31pm: infant is screaming and crying as I struggle to get the diaper and jammies on.
8:32pm: toddler complains that the toilet water splashed in her face while she pooped.
8:32pm and 2 seconds: call in hubby; I need back-up ASAP.
8:33pm: hubby wipes toddler's bottom, washes her poop-water-splashed face, brushes her teeth.
9:30pm: finally get the loud and cranky infant to sleep while hubby reads books to the toddler.
9:45pm: relieve hubby of book-reading duties so he can go back to finishing grading papers for work.
10:30pm: finally get overactive toddler to sleep.
11:00pm: clean up kitchen and shove a peanut butter and Nutella sandwich and a couple cookies in my mouth.
11:30pm: brush my teeth and go to sleep.
1:45am: toddler comes into our bed.
2:15am: infant gets up to nurse.
2:20am: restless toddler keeps rolling around and knocking into nursing infant.
2:21am: gently (yet forcefully) shove toddler across the bed and away from nursing infant and realize toddler is soaking wet and has congested breathing.
2:21am: worry that toddler is sick and sweating thru her clothes? Feverish? She doesn’t feel hot...
2:22am: realize that toddler probably got the germs from that damn booger-faced kid that I saw at daycare pick-up. Hopefully it’s just a cold and not goddamn COVID. Also realize she definitely pissed her jammies.
2:30am: finish nursing infant who fell back a sleep, put infant down in the bassinet.... asleep.
2:31am: infant has explosive shit.
2:32am: pick infant back up and bring to bathroom to change disgusting diaper.
2:34am: open up diaper and infant had another explosive shit mid-change.
2:40am: infant is now all cleaned up with a fresh diaper, new jammies are on, and he is re-swaddled and ready for bed.
2:41am: infant is now wide awake.
2:42am: nurse infant again.
3:00am: put sleepy infant back in bassinet.
3:02am: go check toddler's bed.
3:03am: confirm toddler bed is soaked with urine.
3:05am: find clean bed sheets and change toddler bed.
3:15am: find new toddler underwear and jammies.
3:16am: remove soggy clothes from comatose toddler who wakes up upset looking for Gregory (the goat who eats trash - a character from the last book she read).
3:18am: proceed to only get underpants on the confused toddler before she starts to lose it.
3:19am: give up on the jammies and usher toddler back to her own, now clean and dry bed.
3:30am: toddler is back to sleep.
3:31am: go back to my room and strip my wet bed sheets.
3:33am: find clean sheets and start to change the bed.
3:35am: dazed and confused naked toddler returns to my room see what I am doing.
3:45am: dazed and confused naked toddler is ushered back to sleep in her own bed.
3:55am: finish making my king-size bed but could only find a twin-size comforter. Leave an extra fleece blanket on hubby’s side of the bed in case he ever makes it up to bed.
4:05am: lay in bed wide awake not tired; wondering what’s next: nursing infant or more confused toddler? Stressing about how to keep this booger-faced toddler away from this immunodeficient infant? Decide to write this all down.
4:15am: infant rips a nasty wet fart....
4:16am: consider whether or not to check infant's diaper weighing the risk of waking him up and pissing him off and taking at least another 30 min to get him back to sleep vs letting him sleep in a shitty diaper (that may or may not actually be shitty).
4:17am: decide he will let me know if he needs changing and stay in bed....
4:18am: start looking at mindless social media to bore my brain and tire me out.
4:20am: dazed and confused booger-faced toddler comes in and wants me to lay down with her in her bed.
4:26am: laying in toddler bed I hear a weird screaming noise. Toddler is sound asleep. I get up and check infant - he seems fine. Assume it must be a fox? Or did I dream it? Or am I actually losing my mind?
4:45am: toddler keeps sneezing and is wide awake again.
4:46am: sneak downstairs to grab a face mask and come back up.
4:47am: toddler cries for me to take the mask off. Tell her in the politest way to shut up, mind your own business, and go the hell to sleep.
5:00am: infant starts stirring.
5:02am: text hubby if he is awake, no response.
5:30am: infant starts chirping.
5:40am: infant is full-on screaming.
5:44am: nursing infant in my room.
5:45am: toddler comes in my room crying for me to come back in her room. Tell her to go back to bed.
5:50am: toddler comes back out of her room; tell her to go back to bed. She says she has to use the potty. Fine. Go!
5:52am: toddler comes out of bathroom (no toilet flush or sink sounds but she goes back to bed on her own, so I keep my mouth shut).
6:15am: infant is back to sleep. Toddler hasn’t moved in 20 minutes. Maybe she’s asleep? Should I even try to go back to sleep? Or make the biggest cup of the strongest coffee and “enjoy” a few minutes of quiet time by myself?
6:20am: Well, I procrastinated too long. EVERYONE IS UP FOR THE DAY!!
Lesson of the day: Control what you can control. Forget sleep. Always make the coffee!
Audience check-in: Are you laughing?
Yes? Perfect! Thank you.
No? Reminder: keep your crying to yourself and tell me you laughed.
Someone once followed up to my response with "Oh so you didn't sleep well last night?"
Yes. I did not sleep well last night.... Or the night before that, or the night before that, or the week before that, or the month before that, or the year before that...
But it is not that I just do not sleep well....
On Tuesday morning Charlie threw up for seemingly no reason. I had to take off work because he has to be 24-hours puke free before can return to daycare. But I have been taking off sooo many days of work for sick kids (or daycare was closed due to COVID etc.) that I have no more sick/vacation days at work so I am trying to work while also keeping the baby occupied and safe. He doesn't seem sick, so he is running around at his normal energy levels and demanding my full attention and limiting my ability to get any meaningful work done.
On Wednesday he seemed fine and hadn't puked again, so off the school he went. I picked up the kids in the afternoon, brought them home, and am trying to make dinner, but clingy little Charlie is just hugging on my legs and demanding I pick him up. I get the potatoes out of the oven to cool next to the chicken on the counter. I turn my back to the food and pick up little Charlie who then instantly proceeds to vomit over my shoulder onto the food on the counter. When I realize what he's doing I lunge forward and turnaround, but he's still puking, projectile vomiting over every last inch of the kitchen floor. It was impressive. So he's not eating dinner, but Phoebe is still hungry and is now hangry about dinner being destroyed. We get everyone cleaned up, some of us fed (or conveniently lost our appetite). We get Charlie to sleep.
At bedtime we start talking to Phoebe about Charlie being sick. Phoebe starts saying that she feels sick too. Now this is a common routine that when the little baby starts getting attention for something, that the big sister follows suit. Phoebe: "my tummy hurts too!" So, is it true or is she faking? Phoebe: "my tummy hurtssss....." Really time is the only way to tell. Phoebe: "I don't feel good!" We read her the story about the boy who cried wolf. Phoebe: "No, my tummy really hurts!" And how if you say things that are not true, people won't believe you when you say things that are true. Phoebe: "but it really really hurts!" We tuck her in. Shut off her lights. Say goodnight. Phoebe: "Mommy, my tummy still hurts!" ENOUGH! GO TO SLEEP.
We go downstairs to start cleaning up the dinner plates, the toys, the crumbs, the lunch boxes, run the dishwasher. Then the vomiting starts and an ecstatic Phoebe: "SEE I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK!" She wasn't lying. We stripped the bed, changed her clothes, gave her another bath. Got her new sheets, blankets, jammies, and back to bed. She puked at least ten times with me that night. Each time I was there by her side with the garbage can in hand ready to go. Each time, in a near comatose state she somehow managed to punch the garbage away and flop back on the bed as she exorcist-style sprayed her rancid insides all over her room. Each time, scooping up blankets and soiled sheets, changing jammies, running the washing machine or piling up puke-stained sheets next to it. Around 3am I tapped out and Trevor took over for 4-5 more sessions before the sua came up.
The next day (Wednesday), I took off work again. There is no way I could even pretend to work. At least she was sick enough to lay around and watch movies without much assistance from me. But Charlie was home too so I again wasn't getting much work done. She puked another time in the afternoon which ruled out school for the next day and then when the sun went down she ramped up the frequency again, puking and puking and missing bucket after bucket. We are now using beach towels as blankets and table clothes as sheets because every sheet/blanket/throw/comforter/bath towel is soiled in vomit.
On Thursday, Charlie was back to school but Phoebe was still home and still out of it - again seemed better during the day but then returned to pukefest 2000 at night. Through all of this I can't stop worrying about coming down with this myself. Trevor's parents were here earlier in the week and they ended up getting it too. So far though Trevor and I seem to be spared and are hoping beyond hope that it stays that way. We make it to Friday and think we are out of the clear.
Friday night, Trevor starts coming down with severe stomach pains. We isolate him in the guest room. I Lysol EVERYTHING. Masks, hand sanitize non-stop. Saturday morning both the kids are feeling better. Their appetites are returning. Trevor is out of commission. We have absolutely no food in the house. I have not left the house in days. So, I put in a grocery order for pick up. I keep the kids in their pajamas because we won't need to get out of the car - we ordered online, they bring the food out and stick it right in your trunk. It is amazing. Phoebe is in her jammies. Charlie, I didn't even put shoes or socks on him, just stuck him in the car seat in his pajamas with some snacks. Let's get some fresh air. I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE... Windows open. Air out these germs.
On the 8-minute ride to the grocery store we start a conversation about being sick and the different ways your body helps you get better. How throwing up is your body's way of protecting you from illness. We talk about what diarrhea is. A few moments later... Phoebe: "Mommy I think I need to use the potty" Ok, well Phoebe we just used the potty before we left, so it'll be a little bit before we are back home. Phoebe: "Mommy, my tummy hurts again!" Ok, Phoebe just breathe. I put on some chill music to try to distract her. Phoebe (starting to cry and whine): "Mommy, my tummy hurts really badly!" Ok just relax hun, we will be home soon. Phoebe (full out screaming): "Mommy, NO I need to use the bathroom RIGHT NOW!"
What do I do? What would you do?
I'm going 75 mph on the highway with no exits in sight.
Do I pull over and have her shit in the woods?
Do I have any wipes?
Are my socks clean enough to wipe her butt?
Where is the nearest public restroom?
Would we even make it there in time?
If she shat in her car seat... Where's the nearest dumpster?
How much would a car seat replacement cost?
Is she "crying wolf"?
Every option is a gamble. I stay the course en route to the grocery store. At this point the distance to home, some random restroom, or the grocery store are all about the same. We need food. The booster seat was only $29.
We park in the pick-up zone. I frantically unbuckle a screaming/crying Phoebe out of her car seat, dragging her by the arm with a squirmy-wormy, shoe-less Charlie on my hip who only wants to walk, but he has no shoes and we need to move FAST so now he's screaming and crying too. We are all in our pajamas. We run right past the row of shopping carts, one extremely tired and stressed out mom + two miserable children, and head straight for the filthy public restrooms.
We all snuggle in to the handicap stall, which is clogged with toilet paper, piss on the seats. Hey, you got to go, you got to go. Here you go. Now go. She takes one look at the disgustingly dirty potty with the loud automatic flusher and decides that nope, she does not have to go any more. I grit my teeth, bite my tongue, close my eyes, take a deep breath. If I was my mother I would probably recite the serenity prayer. If I was my grandmother I'd be praying hard for some sort of "Lord help me..." Funny that I find myself somehow wishing or preferring that she had actually crapped her pants in my car?! Mad. Tired. Confused. Exhausted.
I don't remember how we got home, how we got groceries, however they were unpacked. I just remember having half a second of personal time later in the day when the baby was napping, Trevor was resting, Phoebe watching a movie.
I check my phone and have a message from a friend...
I don't remember much about being pregnant. I worked part time. I came home. I laid on the couch. I watched a ton of TV. I looked at facebook. I read pregnancy books. I skimmed every what-to-expect blog. People told me I should blog about funny pregnancy things. But nothing was funny. I was so miserable. I honestly remember telling Trevor I was worried that I wasn't funny anymore, that I would never be funny again. Pregnancy had ruined me.
I think I blacked out for 9+ months except for a few moments that stuck...
I remember finding out I was pregnant. I had just started a new job at a start-up company with 4 very accomplished and motivated older male colleagues. And I remember thinking, this is kind of an awkward time and place to be pregnant. I was expecting the doctor to call with me the pregnancy test results. It was getting close to the end of the day and I remember thinking, doctor's usually give bad news at the end of the day so it must be negative. Then I realized I got a missed call from this morning. I listened to the voicemail in the bathroom at work and was both excited but slightly anxious about being pregnant so soon after starting a new job. I still believe doctor's wait till the end of the day to give you bad results.
I remember when and where I told Trevor. That same day I found out that I was pregnant I biked "home" from work. And by "home" I mean up the river. Because we live up a gigantic hill from where I work, I bike into work with no problem. I pretty much balance on my bike seat and ride the brakes downhill the whole time; wind in my face, scarf around my neck. But there's no way my out-of-shape wimpy little legs could get me home without having to stop and call an ambulance (I don't know if you remember that spin class fiasco?). So instead, I tell my co-workers that I bike home and then when I am out of their view, I hop on the beautiful Delaware & Raritan canal bike path and ride the mile or so up to the parking lot at the north end of town and wait on a nice little park bench until my sweet hero of a husband picks me up and takes me home...pure luxury. There near the park bench on the bike path at the north end of town is where I told him.
I remember when I first felt morning sickness. It is a nausea unlike anything I have ever felt. I did not know how to label it at first. Sort of like the first time I had diarrhea. I remember being in 5th grade and having to "go to the bathroom." I went to the bathroom explosively. I felt better. I went back to class. Then I had to "go to the bathroom" again. And when I asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom again (5 minutes after returning from the last visit) the teacher thought that I should go to the nurse instead. I said fine, knowing the nurse had a bathroom. And I remember SPRINTING to the nurse's office on the other side of the school. I should have stopped at a bathroom along the way but the teacher told me to go to the nurse's office and law-abiding, Jesus-fearing me did what I was told and did not want to break the rules. I whipped into the nurse's office bathroom and nearly shit my pants. Thank goodness the door was open and the toilet unoccupied. When I came out of the bathroom, the nurse asked me "so when did you start feeling sick?" And I remember being so confused. I didn't think I was sick. I didn't think I felt sick. I thought I just really had to go to the bathroom! Similarly, I didn't recognize morning sickness at first. I thought I was just anxious or worried but then realized it was physical and at one of the doctor's visits a nurse asked me if I felt morning sickness and I thought hmmm I well maybe that's what this is... and it was... all the time ... all day long... "morning" sickness. No crackers or ginger ale or vitamin B or diclegis or acupuncture or anything ever made it go away. Many pregnant women only have morning sickness for part of the first trimester. Lucky me, mine got WORSE after the first trimester, and never totally went away it just turned into heart burn later, which also made me feel like puking.
I remember the first time I felt the baby kick. I thought I was about to have a bout of diarrhea.
I remember the first time actually throwing up. For the entire first trimester I always felt awful and miserable. The second trimester is what everyone tells you is the "golden age" where you should go on your "babymoon" or some crap like that. This is supposed to be the phase where you don't feel nauseous and don't yet feel like a beached whale. So we planned to have our annual Friendsgiving party. We had a bunch of friends over. We cooked a gigantic turkey and everyone brought a ton of delicious food. I decided to venture back out into the world of eating normally and had the tiniest bits of thanksgiving delicacies...and spent the rest of the night heave ho-ing in the upstairs bathroom after telling the remaining slumber party guests that I was going to bed. I tried to brush my teeth afterwards but the taste and frothiness of the toothpaste made me want to barf again. I texted Trevor if he could please bring me up lollipops. He did.
I remember the first time almost passing out. I was at work. And Trevor came to pick me up. It was just me and my boss in the office. The boss's office was upstairs so we went up so Trevor could say hi and bye. We get upstairs and Trevor and my boss start talking and I realize very quickly something is wrong. My ears start ringing. The back of my neck starts sweating. I am getting hot and cold. I start shifting around while standing up thinking I need to somehow make my circulation better. Then I start seeing spots and getting tunnel vision and realize that any hope of getting out of there without publicly admitting there is a problem has diminished. I interrupt whatever the hell they are talking about to let them know I am about to pass out. I sit down, Trevor gets me a Vitamin water. We sit around a bit awkwardly until I feel better. So awkward. The only thing less awkward than passing out, is almost passing out and having to tell people about it. I almost wished I had just gone ahead and passed out...
I remember the first time I actually passed out. At one of my prenatal visits I asked the doctor if it is normal to feel like your heart is fluttering. Because it kept happening. My heart seems to be skipping beats. It was freaking me out a little bit. The nurse sent me for an EKG at my primary care doctors. At the primary care doctor, they tell me I need to lay down flat on my back to get the EKG. I tell them that I am in my third trimester and for this entire pregnancy I have been feeling like I am going to pass out and it especially happens when I lie flat on my back. They tell me the only way they can do an EKG is flat on your back. It will only take 30 seconds. Do I think I could lay down flat for 30 seconds? I say I don't know I guess we can try! They say ok, please just let us know the second you feel faint. I remember lying on my back and feeling faint immediately, but telling myself, let's count to 10, and by 5 I remember thinking, ok let's speak up. But then darkness.... I came to with a very frightened EKG technician and a dumbfounded doctor saying things like "hmm I don't know why that happened?" I need a new doctor. After I left the office, I got in the car and had a bit of a panic moment. Does passing out put your fetus in danger?" I did a quick google search and the results were inconclusive (like ALL medical google searches) so I promptly called the OB doctor. She asked me if I had felt the baby kick since I passed out. I said no, but I often go for periods of time without feeling the baby kick. She said to eat a granola bar and see if the baby kicks. I did. She didn't. The nurse said to go to the ER. At the ER I explain to them that I passed out, and they tell me they need to do an EKG to check my heart. I tell them no way, that the EKG is what made me pass out in the first place! They tell me I can get the EKG done while sitting up... this is great information I wish I had an hour ago! CAN THE "EKG PEOPLE" TELL ALL THE DOCTORS IN THE WORLD THAT YOU CAN HAVE AND EKG DONE SITTING UP? PLEASE AND THANK YOU.
I remember having to call Trevor from the ER. Trevor, the soon-to-be first-time-dad whom I had convinced that it would be ok for him to go to a conference in Las Vegas so close to the due date and that he wouldn't miss any action, didn't pick up as his flight was still in the air somewhere over Kansas. I remember thinking I absolutely should not leave him a voicemail saying "Hi Trevor, I am in the ER..." So I kept calling him until his flight landed and he finally picked up. I thought so long and hard about how to tell him what was going on, that I absolutely don't remember the strategy I actually went with... but I think it was something along the lines of staring with a casual introduction (eg, "hey how was your flight, did you meet up with Eric?") and then followed with a little... "by the way"... and of course start with "everything is fine" and then let the truth out: "but I passed out and am in the ER making sure the baby is still alive and BONUS... SHE IS!!! See you in a few days! Mwah!"
I remember not being able to lift my legs into bed one night. It was the day my fishing buddy and I got our fishing licenses and went fishing while I was uber pregnant. By the end of the day whatever magic combination of walking and standing threw my pelvic bones out of whack and I could not lift my legs up. I was at the bed side. If I sat down on my butt and laid down on my side, I couldn't swing my legs up. So I tried laying down face first and still couldn't get my legs up. I had to call Trevor in to help pick my legs up into bed. There's nothing more to that story.... If I was blogging while pregnant it would just be a whole bunch of really miserable, unfunny stories like this.
I remember the first time feeling better. It was a weekend. I had not stepped foot in the kitchen for like 8 months. The smell of the fridge, the sink, the garbage, the toaster, the frying pans... ALL of it ALWAYS made me want to vomit. I do not remember how or what I ate the entire pregnancy. But I do remember the day I finally felt better. I decided to make breakfast. Even Trevor was excited when he realized I was feeling better "OoOo someone's out of bed and feels like cooking!" I had the avocado toast almost ready. I was mixing up the eggs. Coffee was in the kettle. I was feeling good. No, I was feeling great!! Then I started feeling bad. So Trevor finished up the eggs and I sat on the couch. Our brand new couch. Which was in front of our brand new light grey and white rug. As Trevor finished up making breakfast I start to smell the delicious, no I mean disgusting fumes wafting my way. I start trying to suppress my urge to vomit. I used to be pretty good at this in college! Just sit still and breathe and tell myself: I am not going to vomit, I am not going to vomit. It worked until it didn't. Ok now I know there is no way out of this situation without vomiting. Trevor is still in the other room. I start strategizing.
To my right is the front door. I could throw up off the balcony. But the front door kind of gets jammed when you open it, plus the screen door is there and the door knob for the screen door is opposite from the side of the front door knob. I could easily get jumbled up and end up puking through the screen. The bathroom is too far away, I would never make it. That leaves the kitchen. There are two options in the kitchen: the sink or the garbage can. I have been avoiding the kitchen like the plague. I have no idea what condition the sink is in, but based on the 15+ years I have lived with Trevor I am going to put my money on there' a bunch of shit in the sink. Plus we don't have a garbage disposal. That would be a disgusting mess to clean up if I puke in the sink. It would only make me puke more. I sit and try to continue to breathe away my vomit. I don't think I am going to make it. If I move I am going to puke instantly.
I try to telepathically tell Trevor to bring me the garbage can. I close my eyes and envision Trevor bringing me the garbage can. I pray to all the gods and yogis and guardian angels of all the religions in the universe, someone please tell Trevor to look at me and bring me a bowl or garbage can. And then it happens. Trevor looks at me! He looks concerned! He realizes there's something wrong! He is going to save this situation... save our brand new couch, save our beautiful floral rug! Then he says "Hmm do you want the ipad or something?" Trigger... My hands fly to my mouth instantly as the puke is spraying through my fingers and in one swift motion I am off my ass faster than I have moved in months. I round the corner into the kitchen and the garbage can is full and even worse, the drawstrings are half-way tied up. Trevor is fast on my tail, encouraging me "In the sink, sink, sink, sink!!!" But the sink is full of dirty dishes and no garbage disposal, so as I try to pry the drawstrings of the garbage bag open to cleanly puke in the bag, the second my hands move away from my mouth the puke goes all over the counter, all over the cabinets, all over the inside and outside of the garbage bag, all over the garbage can, all over the floor, and all over Trevor's shoes. Trevor rubs my back and gives me hug and tells me to go clean myself up. He'll take care of the kitchen.
If there is ever a time when a woman deserves your sympathy, it is after the birth of their child. Sure congratulations are in order...
Congratulations, 41 weeks of a miserable pregnancy are over!!
Congratulations, you did not DIE in childbirth!!
Congratulations, now that you are totally bloody and beaten up, here's a squishy little alien that needs your attention 24/7, good luck keeping them alive!!
Ladies have a lot of physical healing to do at a time when they are totally thrown off of an emotional cliff into the exhausting world of motherhood... plus insane hormones... We deserve congratulations, yes, but we also deserve sympathy, hugs, food, rest, space, and hot showers.
However, after the birth of our child, most of our relations were calling to see 1) how is the baby? and 2) how is poor Trevor? He totally stole my thunder...
About a month before the big day both Trevor and I came down with the same head cold. It lasted a few days. Mine got better. His got better, but then turned into a sinus infection, then a crazy itchy rash, then blisters on his eye lids, then as the days were winding down closer and close to the due date he started having really weird symptoms like his hands and wrists were really hurting him. He thought maybe he played the piano "too hard" or reassured me that it was probably from swinging an ax chopping fire wood. I politely reminded him that he is 34 years old and that piano playing has never crippled him in the past and that he was chopping wood like a week ago...
The doctors tell me I am going to be induced. So now I know the due date. The night before, I am cleaning up the house and packing the bags and then we settle in to watch one last TV show at home as a party of 2. Trevor gets up to go to the bathroom. He is limping. I ask him "why are you limping?!" He says he must have walked too much...
If I hadn't been so worried about myself and the near-death experience I was about to endure I would have been terribly worried about him! I started to google his symptoms that night, but scary things like AIDS, hepatitis, and autoimmune disease and crazy tick illnesses were coming up. And I couldn't sleep as it is... I put the phone down, barely slept a wink, then we drove my gigantic belly to the hospital to give this baby the boot.
During labor and delivery, I had to help Trevor open doors. I had to help Trevor unscrew the bottle caps from my water bottle so he could get me water. He was getting ice for himself to ice his hands and joints. The baby was born. We had a wonderful few days in the hospital, and Trevor's symptoms would get better, then worse.
We got home as a family of 3. The first night home, the baby DID NOT SLEEP A WINK.... She was up and upset ALL NIGHT LONG. She wasn't born a breastfeeder and she was actually pretty dehydrated before we left the hospital so in order to feed her I had to squeeze milk out of my boob into a spoon, suck the milk up into a syringe, and stick the syringe into her mouth with my finger, and train her how to suck by rewarding her with a drop of milk from the syringe when she would properly suck on my finger. It would take about an hour to feed her, she'd finally fall asleep on me, I would be terrified to move her and wake her up for the next 30-45 minutes so I'd let her stay on my lap until I felt dangerously tired, then I'd lay her in her bassinet and we would both sleep for maybe another 20-30 minutes before she'd wake up again and we would have to repeat the process ALL NIGHT LONG. This on top of having I don't-know-what-kind-of-war-wound that requires gigantic adult diapers and a terrifying fear of what the next bowel movement might do...
But oh my goodness, how is poor Trevor?!
Well poor Trevor didn't sleep the first night at all either, and it wasn't me and the baby keeping him up. On top of me trying to take care of the baby, and not spilling breast milk everywhere, and dealing with literally the period from hell, Trevor is lying in bed next to me writhing in pain, unable to bend his legs, asking for ice and if I can prop his legs up with pillows and blankets...all night long...
Luckily my mom stayed overnight. I texted her if she could come down when she wakes up. I hand over the baby and close my eyes for maybe an hour before my alarm goes off. We have an 8:30 am pediatrician appointment to see if the baby's jaundice is better. I am so tired, I feel blind, I can't see straight, I feel nauseous. I can't drive. Trevor can't get out of bed. My mom takes me and the baby to the doctor's office. I call Trevor's parents if they can come take care of their baby.
At the pediatrician appointment they tell us we need to get the baby's blood work done but because its a Sunday, the lab is closed so we will have to take this prescription to the local hospital to get the test done. We drive the half hour there then wait a half hour to speak to someone, then it literally takes an hour and a half to get us set up in the system. The check-in lady is giving me a hard time that the baby is not on our insurance plan. SHE WAS LITERALLY BORN YESTERDAY!!! Meanwhile, the baby shit herself and, as this is my first outing as a mother, I properly forgot to bring the diaper bag. 4 hours after leaving home we start heading back home. I check my phone and there is a text from Trevor saying "just don't want you to be alarmed if you come home and there is an ambulance in the driveway."
He needed to get to the hospital but he couldn't get out of bed and so they had to call 911.
He goes to the hospital. He gets medicine and gets better. I get to bed, momentarily. I get better. The baby gets older.
Fast forward a year. We have all finally recovered from the post-traumatic stress of pregnancy, labor, delivery, early infancy, and whatever the hell Trevor was dealing with. The baby is now a toddler and just gleefully celebrated her first birthday about a week ago. Everyone is focused on adorable Phoebe, and congratulating Mom and Dad on a job well done. Yet, once again, a certain someone steals the spotlight...
The baby absolutely loves being outside and as a result we are all covered in bug bites. Trevor tells me he has one bug bite that particularly hurts, and I offer my sincere condolences. He often has bug bites that really hurt. I'm sorry you got bit by a bad bug again, but I have to attend to this diaper full of crap and this maniac toddler that insists on eating rocks, chewing on wires, standing on the windowsill during diaper changes, and sticking her hands in outlets. The next morning I am getting ready for work and as I am WWF wrestling a toddler with crocodile strength to try to get sunblock on her face, I catch a glimpse of my strong, handsome 6 foot 3 inched, bearded husband CRAWLING on his hands and knees to get to the bathroom. WHY ARE YOU CRAWLING TO THE BATHROOM?! He says it really hurts and that he is going to go to the doctor. I now realize this is a problem.
I walk out the house and we forgot to close the garage the night before and some animal dragged garbage and poopy diapers all over the driveway. I quickly throw it all in one general direction but don't have time to clean it up. I spent all morning looking for the crutches from last year and now I am late to work. I get to work and I am the first one there. It seemed strange as I was running late. I open my email and there was a work email that went out the night before saying that everyone could work from home.. Damn.
Since I'm there already I stay. By the time I get home Trevor is home from the doctors and is on antibiotics for an infected bug bite, but now has a fever. Obviously the drugs are not working. I call the doctor while he's sleeping and they say give it more time. They drew a circle around the infection and by the next day the infection was obviously spreading, the fever was persisting. I was struggling to take care of Phoebe alone, to take care of Trevor, and to keep Phoebe away from Trevor who obviously needs more drugs and less toddler poking at his wound and saying "oww!"
We decide he will go to the hospital, but he doesn't want to go just yet. I tell him to start getting used to the idea. If he doesn't want to go now he can take an uber after the baby is asleep. I pour myself a glass of wine. I need it! But it is getting close to the baby's bed time. So I set it down in the loft to save it for later. I try to get the baby to go to sleep but she's a smart cookie and can likely sense something exciting is going on and refuses to go down. After about an hour of rocking and reading and bottles and rolling around and singing and rocking and more books and more songs and bouncing, I give up. Trevor is laying on the ground in the loft outside the baby's room. I leave the baby with him, while I go pack him a fanny pack with his insurance card, wallet, phone, charger, water bottler, a couple snacks. Then I hear Trevor yell, "NO, PHOEBE, NO!!!" at the same time as some liquid gurgling....
And the little tiny monster who has never before in her life drank from a cup manages to seamlessly lift a very full wine glass to her lips and attempt to drink it! Most of it ended up on her pajamas after Trevor yelled at her.
After getting the husband with the disgusting leg infection into the car with the wine-soaked baby, I couldn't help thinking, Trevor is going to die or lose his leg, the baby is drunk, I am going to lose custody of my only child and end up in jail...widowed...the baby will be orphaned...
We drop Trevor at the curb of the ER. The baby falls asleep on the way home.
I can proudly tell you that we survived the first year. We are all alive with all of our limbs intact. We are only age-appropriately drunk. And we are all free of prison... for now!
I was looking for some fun wall decals to spice up the toddler room when I came across this product:
This made me think...
“What kind of mother gets paid to allow her son to be pictured taking a dump on a toilet?"
"How much money did she get paid for this?”
"What is her life like?"
"How much money would I be willing to accept for this?"
"What kind of marketing professional decides, 'Hey, in order to sell some CAT STICKERS, let’s get a cute young boy taking a dump on a toilet with a sweet smile and some messy hair. We will put the cat sticker right next him. This is just our ticket!'?!"
And also...
"Is he wearing black pants and blank underpants?"
"Don't you think they should have chosen white underpants?"
"Or were they trying to avoid picturing young boys' underpants, cause that might be too inappropriate?"
But more importantly,
"What is this kid going to be like when he grows up?"
"How is he going to explain this to his teenage friends?"
"Will they think this is cool?"
"Will this ruin his life?"
"Has it already?"
"Does he get unlimited cat stickers?"
Well if you must know... I bought them.
And, she loves them...
And.....
They are also right next to the toilet....
It's the only white wall in the house!
It wouldn't look as good on the knotty pine wood paneling!!
I would have bought them without the damn toilet pictures!!!!
Save your judgement for the mother of the cat-sticker-toilet-pooper boy's mother!
We had a nice little Nor'easter storm this weekend which knocked down trees and took out power lines and left most of our county with no electricity. We were lucky enough to have partial power for most of the weekend, so some of our lights worked dimly but we had to shut of the major appliance that require full power like the well water pump and the water heater. So we did not have any heat.
Luckily we have a wood burning stove which heats the house pretty darn well, but unfortunately we just recently used up the last of our good wood. We have a pile outside but after the crazy storm where rain and snow were coming in at all angles, the logs were all totally soaked.
So we set out in search of wood. We head towards our grocery store and notice that every single house, business, and traffic light along the way is completely dark. Not a good sign. The grocery store is closed. The diner next to it, however, is open. So we head in for a bite to eat and to figure out our next move. Walmart has online ads selling wood for $3 a bundle so we finish eating and drive up to Flemington to stock up. The good news is Walmart is open; the bad news is they are out of firewood. We buy something called a "java log" which is like wood, in the shape of a log, but smells like coffee. That'll help right?
We then head over to the Shop Rite, our last bet for firewood. We enter the store and scour the area where we would suspect firewood to be, but there's nothing. Crap. Over in the floral section we see a manager behind the counter. We ask him if he knows if they have any firewod left. He replies that aisle 10 is where it usually is, but that he's pretty sure they just have a package or two of kindling left; no firewood bundles. Trevor and I look at each other with the "darn-it-that's-not-going-to-help-us much" face. The Shop Rite manager then goes on to say "Well, but I do have some out back in my truck.... if you guys are ok waiting for a few minutes I could go get it..."
To which I immediately exclaim "Awesome! YES! We will take whatever we can get!"
Trevor and I do not discuss our misunderstandings at the time, although he tells me later that he was a bit surprised at how quickly and how excitedly I responded to his offer. We wait and wait in silence for this manager to finish what he is doing, call someone on his walkie talkie, and then wander off out back to "his truck." As a manager in a Shop Rite during work hours, I understand his offer to mean that he is going out back to his Shop Rite truck to find the last remaining inventory of the store's wood that we can then buy like normal customers. Trevor understands his offer to mean that he is a friendly guy with his own pickup truck out back and his own personal stash of wood that he is going to give us.... for free... cause he is just a nice guy...
Trevor asks if I have some cash, and mentions we should give him something. I am thinking "Sure, I have a $20 bill; we can pay for the wood in cash and get change back so we have a few extra bucks to give him for his efforts in finding us the last remaining bits of wood."
Several minutes later, the guy comes back with a store cart containing two wrapped bundles of wood. Trevor offers him the whole twenty dollar bill and the man declines "Oh no, I couldn't accept that." I am thinking Trevor's either trying to give this guy a twenty dollar tip, or is trying to pay the guy right there for the wood. Both seem equally inappropriate to me... twenty dollars is a lot for a tip, and tipping is kind of weird in grocery stores to begin with so of course the man would not accept....or if Trevor is trying to pay the man for the wood, of course the man cannot take cash right there in the middle of the floral department, he has to ring it up at the cash register and give you a receipt like a normal grocery store transaction, and that's probably not his job, that's what the cash register people are for! Either way I am slightly relieved the man does not accept the cash.
Trevor grabs the cart of wood and heads right for the exit. Appalled, I ask him "Where do you think you're going?! We still have to pay for the wood!" To which he replies, stunned... "Uuuhhhh I am pretty sure that guy just gave it to us." The thought never crossed my mind.... "Ummm nooo I am pretty sure the man just got it for us, but we still have to pay for it!!!! We can't leave a store without paying, that's stealing!" Confused and unsure, but not wanting to risk burglary charges, but pretty sure there are no burglary charges, Trevor turns the cart around to head for the register line to give my theory a try.
I throw a bag of oranges in the cart because now I am hungry. But now I am also second guessing myself. Trevor's pretty smart, how could he think it is ok to just walk out the store with a cart full of wood that we did not pay for. Did I miss something? As we get closer to the row of cash registers, we see our generous manager friend who went and got the wood for us. We give a friendly "Thanks-again!" wave and he sees us heading for the cash register and springs into action.
MOMENT OF TRUTH.
He grabs a wad of bright orange "PAID" stickers from the closest cash register and places a sticker on each of the wood bundles and explains "I just want to make sure they don't give you any trouble at checkout...."
DAMNIT, TREVOR WAS RIGHT!!
And now we have to wait on line to pay for this damn bag of oranges! The wait seems like eternity as I rehash how wrongly I interpreted things... I excitedly stole this guy's wood, I got annoyed when Trevor tried to tip him too much, and then I flaunted our free wood throughout the store, we freaked out the generous man who gave us the wood, and now we are about to confuse the hell out of some young little cash register attendant just so we could also get a friggin bag of oranges! On the bright side, we 100% avoided any possible shoplifting accusations.
The attendant luckily sees the bright orange PAID stickers and does not question the wood. We pay for the oranges as I want to melt into the floor and puke with embarrassment and self-disappointment. We discuss the whole episode on the way back to the car. Trevor honestly wants to know... "What exactly were you thinking?" I do not know; I misread the ENTIRE situation from start to finish.
It is 9:45pm, we are cold, tired, we head to the beer store right before closing, and then head home.... happy that there are nice, generous people in the world, but disappointed that I cannot pick them out when they are right in front of my face doing nice, generous deeds... Also happy to have firewood and a cozy, warm house again....
Although by the time we get home, the power is already back to normal... sooooo we'll just have to save that nice man's wood for the next power outage... doh!
Since taking a break from working, I started to get into meditation and podcasts. I had to give the meditation a break after a three day series of attempted meditation that lead to unexpected 4 hour + naps... So podcasts it is!! One of my favorite podcasts is "Mystery Show' where this lady, Starlee Kine, goes around trying to solve everyday mysteries, like how how did this intricate belt buckle end up on the side of the road... People will email her questions or topics to look into and they she will start researching and interviewing people and put together a podcast to go over what she finds and she always finds some sort of solution.
I have also gotten back into hiking. On Saturday, Trevor and I went down to the river for my favorite hike on a little spit of land between the Delaware River and the canal (for this hike, I remembered to change out of my slippers and wear actual sneakers ;). There is a bike path on the little spit of land as well as a peaceful little trail that cuts backs and forth through the woods closer to the river. This is the trail where we usually see bald eagles and beavers. Today we saw neither, but we did see a grown a$$ man taking a dump in the middle of a the trail at the point where it cuts through an open meadow... To be fair... I did not actually "see" this, but I did see all the circumstantial evidence...
After hiking through the wooded area of the trail Trevor and I were right about to walk into the wide open meadow area where the wooded hike connects back with the bike path when Trevor abruptly turns around and in an urgent, quiet-for-Trevor, voice he exclaims "Turn around!! There is a girl taking a piss on the trail!" Yikes. I do as I am told (having hoped someone would do me the same favor if I were the one squatting) and we double back 10-20 yards or so and wait until she is done and hope she walks the other way... We are at a spot on the trail where the wooded trail is really close to the paved bike path trail. We see a man walk by on the bike path a few moments later.
"Was that the 'woman' you saw taking a piss?!, cause that 'woman' definitely had a full beard and that was definitely a dude"...
A perplexed Trevor sorts through his memory; the wheels are really turning in his academic brain... that man was wearing a very similar coat to the 'girl' he saw.. but the perpetrator he saw was squatting "like a woman would"; and he was pretty sure he saw "liquid" coming out.
After waiting a few moments until the male walker-by is out of the picture and long enough that the "girl" (if she exists separately from the walker-by) would have been done her business... we proceed to exit the trail through the meadow where the alleged urination occurred. And as any good researchers would; we stop to look for evidence... where is the puddle?... no puddles but... "oh sh*t!" There is no piss but there is a huge pile of poop right off the side of the trail; right in the open; right in the heavily trafficked area where the bike path meets the wooded hike, in broad daylight, on a sunny warm Saturday in March... where some strange man just took a huge dump... and did not even wipe.
I could not stop thinking about this man all day. Is he a local? Was he not worried he would see someone he knew taking a dump out in the open? If he is not from around here, why was he on this trail all by himself, not wearing hiking clothes? And why the heck did he take a poop outside, in the middle of a busy area on a sunny day when there were obviously people all around? Was he drunk? Why was he drunk so early? And why was he drunk on this trail? Was he sick? Did he have diarrhea? Did he not know he was going to get sick? Or does he have some sort of mental illness where he doesn't know or doesn't care how socially unacceptable it is to do something like that? Or does he not 'give a sh*t' what he does and just trying to make a statement? Where was he going? Is he comfortable walking around having taken a dump and not having wiped his butt? Why couldn't he have walked deeper into the woods and find a more hidden place to poop? Why didn't he at least try to cover up his poop with leaves or sticks? Was he embarrassed of this? or proud? Was he going to come back later and pick it up?
If Starlee Kine was still producing Mystery Show podcasts, I would definitely write this one in...
If anyone else has ever pooped not in a toilet... if so, what were the circumstances? what the heck were you thinking?!
Later that night we met up with a couple friends and a cop was at their house. The cop was our friends' friend and he happened to be a cop in our town where we saw this poop perpetrator. The cop was telling stories about all the silly things that people in town have called the cops about. He says he gets a lot of calls about people saying a baby bird fell out of the nest and could the police please come help it.
I thought for a minute about telling the cop about the poop perpetrator, but I felt a bit bad that we had not called the cops at that exact moment... If people around here call the cops about birds falling out of their nests, we definitely should have called the cops about a grown adult taking a poop in the middle of a public park. A part of me wants to give the pooper the benefit of the doubt that he was sick or it was an emergency and that he is severely embarrassed and regretful of what he has done; and a part of me wants to believe that in the middle of the night he will sneak back onto the trail and clean up after himself. But a part of me also thinks about what the cop's response would be if I tell him our story... like any detective he will probably first ask me what the perpetrator looked like... Nothing too out of the ordinary: a tallish, thin, white guy with a knit cap and a full, but neatly trimmed dark brown beard... Then the cop might just write down the description and tell the rest of his cop buddies to keep an eye out for a tall, skinny, brown-haired, bearded white guy.... and Trevor just does not need that kind of harassment!
I am starting the transition away from a work from home environment... eventually I am planning to have a work at work environment, but for now I am focusing on just getting out of the house regularly and having a more well-balanced life.
When you work from home, you turn into a mush of a person... I could not keep track of showering, changing clothes, putting on matching clothes, putting on make up, doing hair, eating.... it is not that I did not do these things... it is just that I did them so inconsistently and infrequently that I could not ever keep track of when was the last time I did what, and when is the next time I should do what; and without anyone around to judge me... I would just forget... It is disgusting, I know.... Judge me... and then maybe I will change...
Last week was my first week off work. After starting off the week strong (I watched "Office Space" for inspiration, shipped my work computer gear back to California, went for a beautiful bike ride along the Delaware River, met my mom for lunch in Asbury Park, cleaned up the entire house, renewed my passport, paid the bills)... I ended the week rather lazy. I slept till about noon, then fell asleep again watching a Ken Burns documentary on the Prohibition, then ate some food, went right back to the warm spot on the couch and started reading Trevor Noah's book "Born a Crime"... I then got mad at myself for not leaving the house all day. Although, in my defense, it was a little bit chilly... but the sun was still shining and I had the car... I should have taken advantage of that.
I decided to check out the local library. I looked at their website and luckily they are still open, although they close soon; within the next half hour. So I grabbed my purse and scurry on over.
To my shame, I arrive at the library and realize I still have my slippers on... I did not change into real shoes... Having lived 90% of the last 3 years in my robe and slippies, I am obviously unaccustomed to the habit of changing into real outdoor shoes and leaving the house. Luckily my slippers semi-resemble actual shoes (and at least have a hard-ish bottom) and with no time to go home and change, I keep going... do not look down.
I sign up for a library card and check out a book on local hikes... Inspired by my newfound motivation and still semi-disgusted with myself for sleeping all day, I decide to take advantage of the last hour and a half of sunshine, overcome my fear of hiking alone, and go for a nice little nature walk down by the river... by myself.
I get down to the river, park the car... realize I still have my damn slippies on! But, whatever, I already walked all over the dirty library covered in stranger kids germs, what is a little mud and goose poop gonna hurt? Plus it's dry and the ground is cold and hard so they won't get too dirty... and if I go home and change first I will miss all the remaining daylight... I keep going.
I get about 20 minutes out watching the ground meticulously to make sure I do not step in dog poop, when I suddenly hear a large crack; like a tree branch snapping.... and, being the daughter of a former FBI agent and child assault prevention teacher that I am, my mind immediately interprets the situation as I am being followed and am about to be assaulted (eyes, pinkies, shins).... but when I turn around I am met by a ghost cloud.... a strong white wind below dark purple gray clouds coming my way.... with what the?
Apparently it is supposed to blizzard-style SNOW today!
I run back to the car in 15 minutes or so (still in my slippers now covered in snow), pick up Trevor, then drive home to get back in my pajamas, change out of my slippers into a fresh pair of warm socks, and hit up my sanctuary warm spot on the couch. Tomorrow I will try again...
Brought to you by one year of non-blogging by way of focusing on writing this one single speech... here it is, my matron of honor toast from my sister, Colleen's wedding.... Enjoy!.... and then, enjoy again!
The Baby Bride, Colleen a.k.a. "Weener"
Hi everyone....(nervous).... I'm scared of heights but not as much as I am scared of public speaking. So I thought by convincing Greg (the best man) of being up so high in the rafters (we tried to do the speech from the second story balcony but the microphone wouldn't work) that would make this public speaking thing a bit easier..... (more nervous...worried that my logic doesn't make sense and starting to sense the crowd's empathetic fear for me... gte it together...stop shaking....)
First off, I would like to thank all the friends and family for being here today....
Thanks to our mom and dad, Mary Ellen and Paul, and to Mike's parents, Lynn and Dennis, for bringing these two wonderful people into our world. And especially thank you, Colleen, for honoring me as your matron of honor tonight.
In case you couldn't tell I am Colleen's sister. We often get mistaken for twins or confused for each other since people say we look alike... so I made sure to wear a different color dress tonight so that at least Mike and Trevor wouldn't get confused which one is their wife... (Mike-yours is in the sparkly white dress / long hair ; and Trevor - pale pink dress, shorter hair;)
Yes, the Erickson girls all look similar, we laugh similarly, we're about the same height, about the same weight and about the same foot size (changes to "shoooooe size" in actual speech). At face value it's hard to tell a difference, but at our core we each have very unique personality traits that set us apart.
From left to right: Jamie (friendship tattoo friend); Rosalie (other friendship tattoo friend); Lauren (new sister in-law who not-so-surprisingly (fellow oldest sister) seems to possess the angelic behavior and stunning looks of our older sister Bridget; both of whom can easily be mistaken for Princess Kate; the Baby Bride Weener, myself (the weird sister), Nancy (the competitive sister), Bridget (the "angel" child sister), and Adalyn (the next generation "Erickson" girl)
There's Bridget.... with the angelic behavior who always seemed to have our parents wrapped around her finger and some how manages to make life-long friends everywhere she goes.
Then there's Nancy.... who has a reputation for competitiveness, taking on an insane amount of challenges with her work and family life, constantly busy but always seeming to have control (ad lib line about her children crying during the ceremony...).
There's me, the quirky one, who prides myself on thrift store purchases and trying to make people laugh, and often walking slightly off the beaten path....
... and then there's Colleen....the BABY... who like Bridget has an extra special place in our parents' heart. And like Bridget has made and held on to all the good friends she's come in contact with from St Benedict's, Hazlet Recreation, Allied Health, Rutgers, rugby, Hoboken, Macy's, Lucky Vitamin, and Philadelphia.
Like Nancy, Colleen has a super competitive and fearless nature as evident in her selection of rugby as her sport of choice and her taking on a leadership role in the group.
Like me she enjoys a good flea market purchase and always seems to feel secure in her own skin (semi-sarcastically).
Colleen seems to possess the best of each of us and she also brings out the best in all of us... and not just her sisters.
Assuming you know Colleen you know what I am talking about. I could rattle off her accomplishments to try to illustrate her impressiveness. But the most impressive thing about her is the way she makes you feel about yourself (in semi-sarcastic/semi-uncomfortable tone while being semi-sentimental)... when she's around I always feel a little less stressed, a little more happier, a little more funnier.
Now since Colleen and Mike have set their wedding date in early November on this historical election year... I thought it would be especially appropriate to draw some parallels between some of the obstacles Colleen and Mike will face in marriage, and some of the political obstacles we have been exposed to in the Clinton-Trump debates. Imagine for a minute that Colleen is Hillary Clinton and Mike is Donald Trump....
Just kidding...
Marriage advice number 1: always leave politics out of large family gatherings.... especially when there's an abundance of free alcohol involved.
Back to how I first met Colleen....
Colleen was my first best friend, the first person I have felt personally responsible for, my one and only baby sister... I was very happy when she was born as I now had someone I could dote on, and play with, and teach things....and that I now had an ally in the sibling rivalry with my older sisters Bridget and Nancy .. My first favorite year of life was when both Bridget and Nancy had to go away to school and Colleen and I would play by ourselves in their room breaking their toys and trying on their clothes.
Colleen and I were always close...We shared a room together with bunk beds for a long time... when we got older we started sleeping on the couches together in the playroom watching tv or staying up late talking about life and hiding secrets from mom.
While our older sisters Bridget and Nancy were off exhibiting model citizens behavior with their straight-laced honor roll report cards, student council elections, key club memberships, and prom queen crowns, I took Colleen under my wing.... and encouraged her to listen to Marilyn Manson, dye her hair crazy colors, nearly shave her head, pierce her lip and nose, and start drinking a little earlier than legally allowed.... But as a testament to her wonderful multi-faceted personality and demeanor... she still got into the honor high school... and also went on to be homecoming and prom queen just like her oldest straight-laced sisters...
So although I tried my best to corrupt her, and in many ways I succeeded, Collleen still managed to maintain the role model behavior of Bridget and Nancy... and arguably turned into the most well rounded out of all of us.
And for that I couldn't have been more proud....
I myself never got to be prom queen... but I went to a much larger public school... so there was a lot more competition.... and ya know I didn't even really want to be prom queen anyway...
Growing up I felt a personal responsibility to teach Colleen everything I learned although it was often at the unintentional expense of causing her premature emotional distress... I told her Elvis was dead... I told her Santa Claus was fictional... and I told her that when she grows up and turns into a woman in a few short years she was going to start bleeding out of her butt...
So I believe she developed into a much more realistic understanding of the world because of me.
Colleen has always lived up to the stereotypical youngest child baby personality
1) Youngest children resent not being taken seriously....
Even as a toddler she'd be sucking on her white wrinkled little thumb and snuggling her blankly and mom would say something to her in a baby voice and she'd cowl back "Duh!! Don't you think I don't know that?!"
2) Youngest children are the stereotypical "free spirit" types...
Colleen freely embraced the nickname "WEENER" from childhood into adulthood....
She went and got friendship tattoos with her buddies...
And she has a reputation of being very loose with planning ...As I compared notes with other bridesmaids and family members for this wedding, there was a common theme of "ok so you don't really know what's going on either". And it's not in a sense of neglect or intentional lack of communication... it's just details around planning that just aren't necessary or important to her. She has a lot of faith in things working out as they often do for her.
Even with having to move the ceremony indoors it still was absolutely breathtaking
3) Parents are often less cautious with the youngest child...
For instance one of Colleen's first word was stuck... she was a baby and couldn't say much but when she'd wake up from a nap and she'd often yell "stuck"!...meaning "help mom my leg is trapped in the crib come get me out cause I know you are ignoring the baby monitor..."
I also have fond memories of feeding Colleen cookie-shaped dog food. You may think that makes me a horrible sister, but don't worry, I was eating them right there with her.
I was also right there with her when I coaxed her into sticking beads up her nose ...resulting in a causal emergency room visit....stuck....
4) Youngest children are the charmers and are naturally entertaining...
Colleen was always good at impressions growing up and always knew how to make us laugh... she always did a good Elvis impersonation... "Bebe" (said in Elvis accent).... she also had a good mother Theresa impression where she'd wrap her blanket around her head and say (in an old, squeeky high pitched voice)..."I, Mother Theresa, must save the children of Calcutta"... She also had an impression of mom which she must have picked up shortly after tax season...picking up a receipt of mom's and exclaiming "what the hell is this?!" (in mean mom voice)
When me and Bridget and Nancy grew up and moved on to college, Colleen still managed to entertain herself ... when she had no one to play with, she somehow managed to train the dog how to play hide and seek with her.
7) Parents are typically less rule oriented with the youngest...
When I got grounded I would have no phone, no TV, and no friends until the original agreed-to time had expired. When Colleen got grounded she would give mom the silent treatment and within a day or two had somehow guilted Mom to take her out shopping to buy her things...
She also managed to stay on Mom's car insurance and have Mom pay her phone bill way longer than the rest of us.. Although Mom just yesterday informed me that now Mom is on Colleen's phone plan... so Congratulations Mary Ellen!
And then there's Mike.....
We didn't know what to think of Mike at first.... We weren't sure how he would fit in... Judging by the rest the Erickson girls' choice of mate.... about 6 feet tall ... (insert crowd laughs)....and ever so slightly receding hairline... (zing!),.... Mike didn't exactly fit the physical mold..... Because Mike is what? just about 5'11 and three quarters? (he is not) and WOW that hair!! (Mike has awesome, jealous-able hair)
Note the beautiful hairline...
Mike is a fellow middle child, like me. And us "middles" often get a bad rap for being the overshadowed, jealous, "that's not fair," black sheep types...But not Mike ( and not me either).
We have all the positive personality perks of middle children types, without the bad stuff...
1) Middle children are the social butterflies of the family
People are constantly at Mike's house and I feel like every time we go there we meet a new set of friends and leave thinking.. "wow those are really good, fun people." (should have thought of better adjectives... "good" and "fun" are understatements...) And he also maintains these life-long friends from all stages of life.
2) Middle children are team players
And with Mike it's not just on soccer field. When Mike started coming around to family gatherings he would always be pitching in, making a point to bring extra cigars for the guys, showing up at Thanksgiving with a deep fryer and cooking the turkey, showing up at Carstens' slip and slide baby's shower and breaking out the soap... ya know to make the slip and slide extra slippery....
3) Middle children have a lot of patience
We are used to having to wait our turn... and from a fellow middle child who also married a youngest child I can tell you this virtue comes in handy as these youngest child types are prone to losing keys, forgetting their phone or wallet, and generally running late to everything. Patience, my dear, patience....
4) Middle children are also very adventurous, and risk-taking.
Now what is more adventurous then marrying into a family full of women?!
Or buying a brand new house in the ghetto?
Or planning a wedding with a family full of women at the exact same time as buying a house in the ghetto all while adopting a pit bull puppy with an eating disorder?!
There he is... note: that couch no longer exists.... he ate it
Now I'd like to offer Colleen and Mike some advice for your marriage based on your birth order (compliments of eharmony.com)
For Colleen...
As the baby in a relationship, your youngest child personality offers all sorts of fun and excitement. Throughout your marriage, Mike can always count on you to find spontaneous, unexpected ways to amp up the excitement. Always use your social skills for good; and be careful not to abuse your powers (i.e. do not take advantage of your middle child husband).
For Mike....
As a middle child you are well on your way to being a very good partner. Since middle children are the least likely to have been spoiled in any way, you are likely more willing to work hard to create a happy and meaningful relationship. Having experienced your share of conflict growing up in the middle, you may tend to steer clear of it at all costs but be sure to strike a balance and speak up when It matters.
Welcome to the family my new baby brother and fellow middle child, Mike!! With this last wedding you complete the Erickson girls who are now officially off the market.
To my baby sister Colleen, I love you with all my heart and you are my greatest confidant. With your marriage to Mike you have officially made everyone in our family feel very old....
Now everyone please raise your glasses....
To many many years of health and happiness and may you always remember the fun and excitement of today as long as you live!! To the Tavani's!
Now that you read it... you can hear it and judge my performance ;) If anyone did not run out of phone storage and has the second half of the speech, send it my way!
This past summer we were in Philly for a weekend trip to attend a wedding and to look at houses to buy when my sister offered to give us my mom's old car which she had previously inherited and subsequently used up the majority of its functioning life.
But, hey, it is a free car. She might have a couple solid years left in her. And we are car-less... And after we sign up for this mortgage, we will be money-less too. We could use the charity... My sister's boyfriend's mother could use the driveway space....So we will take it!!
We picked up my sister's car at her future mother-in-law's house on what was easily the hottest day of the year. My sister and future brother-in-law then head back to Philly and we follow them in our new car which we soon find out does not have functioning air conditioning. We roll down the windows which is arguably hotter having the scorching air blown right onto your sizzling skin. We rotate rolling down the windows and attempting a breeze, to closing them back up until we at so hot and stuffy we want to barf. The steering wheel is too hot to touch. The hot plastic seats are searing through our bottoms; it is so hot we have goosebumps. Then my phone dies from over heat. Then Trevor's phone overheats and also dies. All is not lost though. Although we do not know where we are going, my sister and her boyfriend do. We just have to follow their luxurious subaru whose AC works and is not threatening to shut off their iphone lifeline. We continue to follow my sister and her boyfriend back to Philly. Just in case Trevor is holding his phone out the window to attempt to cool it off in the breeze and see if he can turn it back on. It's on for a second then dies again. I try not to lose my sister. We cannot call them to tell him to slow down... We cannot call them to tell them we do not have GPS anymore. We cannot call them to tell them not to go through the ez pass lane because we do not have ez pass and will surely lose them at the bridge ... And that's exactly what we do. We are so hot. So angry. So lost. But at least we have a car!!
We eventually get off the highway in the general direction of the neighborhood bar. Soaked in sweat. Hungry, thirsty. We cool off our phones long enough to get a signal, find their bar, only have time to order one drink, chug it down and grab some food to go before we have to get home, showerm, ans spiffy-up for a wedding.
The day after the wedding we have a grueling day lined up to see eight or so houses. I am terrified by the AC situation. We stock up on waters. Keep our phones out of the sun. I cannot even remember any of the houses we saw. I was too miserable for my brain to function
Our last task before we drive back up to our tiny apartment in Cambridge is to get the car inspected.
We sit through the long hot line at the DMV inspection center. Choosing between suffering in the stifle of windows up or choking in the car exhaust with windows down. Those are our options. Finally it is our turn. We hand the man my mom's registration card since my sister never registered it in her name. The garage man keeps it and says he will return it after the inspection.
We get out of the car and wait in a dirty hallway. Thirty minutes later we are waved out to our car. The inspection fails. But we have a document saying we have 30 days to fix it, so we are slightly better off than at the start of the day.
Let's just head to a coffee shop so I can get a couple hours of work in and fully charge the laptop before we hit the road. But first let's put that registration card away. What registration card? The registration card I have to the man when we got here... He said he would give it back when they gave us back the car. Did he give it to you? No. Did he give it to you? No! Excuse me Mr. DMV man can we please have our registration card back? I left it on the driver seat in the car! Oh let me check. No, it is not there. Proceed for the next 20 min to rip apart the car, the floor mats, the beach chairs in the trunk, the empty water bottles in the back seat. Where is this damn registration card?!
Meanwhile I now have to take a work call from the curb of a classy NJ DMV inspection center curb on highway 202 in Flemington and it is not even one I can stay on mute for...
Trevor goes back to argue with the man about the location of this registration card. The garage man gives Trevor some new paper work and tells him to go into the main office and they can get him a new card. He is in the office for the full hour while I'm on the curb trying to stifle the auto garage noises from my coworker.
I get off the phone an hour later and Trevor eventually returns.
You got the new registration card?
The registration card is in your mom's name. They would not give me one. They need your mom to be here.
Defeated. Well let's get the hell out of here before things get worse. We finally find a coffee shop which does not serve food and is closing in an hour. But I have to get some work done and I need their wifi. So I work for a bit while Trevor finds some granola bars at a convenient store.
We finally pack up from the New Jersey coffee shop and are ready to hit the five hour road back to Cambridge, MA. I start collecting my things and.. oh.... what this little piece of paper I have in my purse?! .......The damn registration card!!!!
I am fuming mad at how much of a moron I am that I start crying. Rational Trevor points out that it is arguably better that we found the registration card now, then not find it at all. It is ok. You were stressed. You were overheated. And the guys we were harassing back at the garage do not need to know about his.
We get back in the car and I am back on a work meeting. This one is the kind I can stay on mute for. We start our drive back to Massachusetts. On our way home. The sun is setting and it is starting to cool down. We are starting to cool down. We will get home very late and, although that is not ideal, we are looking forward to driving with the windows down at night and avoiding the high heat of the summer's day.
Finally starting to relax. Cannot wait to get home to air conditioning and take a cold shower! Listening in on my business meeting I see Trevor starts to tighten up. He is looking concerned and keeps looking down at the dashboard. What is it? Are we out of gas? Still on the phone I give him the palm up hand, furrowed brow look (universal sign language for "what the hell is wrong")? He points at the speedometer and waves at his neck, universal sign language for "that is too hot." (Even though I am on mute I still don't like talking). He whispers that he has to put on the heat full blast in this 90 degree weather to get the heat off the engine. He does that for a few miles, but it is not helping (me or the car). I look up out the windshield and the car hood is now smoking. I elbow him and yank my thumb to the right (universal sign for "Holy shit!!! Pull over!!!!!")
As luck would have it, (and the only luck we would have this day) we were close to an exit and my work meeting had come to an end. We pull off the highway and into a hotel parking lot (coincidentally the same hotel where our good friends Matt and Renata were married a few years before).
We grab a beer at the familiar hotel bar and debate if we should stay the night at the hotel or tow the car tonight. Since we will have to tow the car either way, we decide to save on the hotel fee and get a move on things tonight. So we call AAA to sign up for a membership and subsequently use the membership instantly to tow the smoking car an hour and a half drive back to my mom's house.
It is after midnight when we arrive. I borrow cash from my mom to tip the driver. First thing the next day we slowly drive the car a couple miles to the auto shop. It's a $500 fix. We slowly drive the car back to my mom's house. Then take an Uber to the closest car rental place. Back at my mom's after she has left to visit my sister in DC, we pack up the rental car with all our belongings. We leave my sister's car keys and the 30-day inspection failure notice for her at my mom's house. We scour the house for anything we may have left behind. I do not have a key to my mom's house so if we leave and lock it, we will be locked out. I think we have everything. Lock the house. Get to car. Realize ez pass, which we had forgot while driving through Philly, but remembered to put back in the car on the way up to Cambridge, is now locked in my sister's car. The sister's car keys are now locked in the house. And we are now locked out. Start crying again.
We stop for food and unload some cash from the atm. We drive the toll lanes all the way home.
As Trevor falls asleep in the car I shed some more tears out of appreciation for how desperately crappy the last couple days have been. You win life, you broke me...multiple times today, in fact... Then I almost hit a baby raccoon. Dry my eyes. Things may still continue to get worse... We make it home by 2am. As we try to unlock the apartment door Trevor realizes he must have left his keys at my sister's house in Philly...of course.
Let's go to bed.
The morale of the story is, as my economist husband likes to say, "there's no such thing as a free lunch (or car)."
My morale of the story is, "do not cry when the first crappy thing goes wrong... cause you never know when sh*t is really about to hit the fan..."
or take Trevor's advice... "there is no need to cry about it."
