January 2006 Archives

We went out to [[semi-snotty corporate restaurant chain]] last night. It was after our Sunday meeting, so we were dressed up. Had the kids with us. So we got seated back by the kitchen--which is actually fine with me. It makes me less nervous about sudden bursts of volume from our little critters when we're back in the clatter zone. But I got the instant impression our server was bummed to be stuck with us. It's like we had two strikes against us:

1) Parents with kids = Needy + Baaaad Tippers.
2) Church people = Prissy, demanding, stingy, fundie, tip-scrooges.

I feel like I want to pull out a laminated, folded table tent card when we first sit down, that says "We tip 20%", just so we can clear the air and enjoy mutual happiness. But that's in poor taste--although I don't know why I should let that bother me, goodness knows...

As much as I want to dispel the unfortunate stereotypes, there's no way to escape the "needy" label. We've trained our kids to have depressingly limited food palettes, obviously. As Chris Yetman puts it: "the tan food". Breaded chicken, french fries, lipton noodles, grilled cheese, you get the picture. Well, with my kids, even that isn't safe. If the noodles in the macaroni are too big, or the bread on the sandwich is an eighth of an inch thicker than normal, we might as well be trying to feed them cyanide. Well, Giselle ordered this little kid-sized pizza. I should've known better. Apparently, the sauce didn't have the right amount of MSG in it, and there was much plaintive weeping while Harrison happily scarfed down his chicken strips. People were turning around trying to figure out why this poor little girl was crying like her Dad just told her that her puppy was going to have to be put to sleep. Oy. Another order of chicken strips, please!

Does anybody else feel strange pulling McDonalds burgers and Fries out of their coat pockets at a restaurant where you want to eat in peace?

Like a foul mist of polluted vapor, a strep infection settled on my family last week. We thought it was just a sore throat/cold thing at first. My nephew and niece, Atticus and Ophelia came up to visit for a couple days over the Christmas break. Atticus was nursing the tail end of a sore throat, and we didn't worry about it much. Kids are constant virus bombs anyway. There's no avoiding it, so you roll with it.

Well the day after they left, Friday, Giselle came down with a pretty stout sore throat, but she wasn't incapacitated too badly. About a day and a half of Children's Tylenol and that throat spray stuff, and she started to feel better. Then, Saturday, Amanda started feeling puny, but still pretty much functional. By Monday night, I was nursing a grudge in the throat regions myself. Aw well. It ain't nothin but a thing, I figured. But no, I got a special nuclear surprise with mine, and inside of a day I was hurting very nicely. But by Tuesday night, I was rolling through the malevolent brambles of irradiated cactus-throat. Every swallow was a wasp sting followed by rug burn.

You simply don't appreciate what a luxury swallowing the barest mouth moisture is, until you can't do it without tears dancing across your eyelashes. Did you know that you swallow naturally in your sleep? And that you can't really sleep if you can't swallow? Did I mention the back-breaking chill-shivers followed by hours of festering sweat? Thank goodness for the sick slots they leave open at the doctor's office, and 5 minute strep tests. By Wednesday afternoon, I had a full bottle of antibiotics and a glimmer of hope. I still had a few more hours of white-knuckling my kneecaps every time I forced down a swallow. I broke my 36-hour food and drink boycott with a cup of Dr.-mandated warm Tea. Oh the horror.

Antibiotics are wonderful. Thank you Alexander Fleming. By midnight Wednesday, I still had a raging sore throat, but I could swallow again without thoughts of euthanasia echoing through my mind. Ohh my wonderful, precious Amoxicillin, you'll always have a place in my heart.

In the middle of my celebration of self pity and full week of missed work, we decided to take Giselle in to the Dr. to see if she was harboring the dread evil thing. (Her throat still ached a bit when she yawned, she said.) Sure enough, she was a carrier too. I asked (croaked?) the doctor if I should bring Harrison in too, seeing as two of us were already marked positive. But since he didn't have obvious symptoms, the answer was no. Well I kept a beady eye on him, looking for any excuse. Well, over the last couple days, he started clearing his throat at regular intervals (with a different sound from his asthma throat clearing...it's hard to explain):

"Does your throat hurt, buddy?" (...come on, say 'yes') ...
"No. It doesn't." ...
"Then why do you keep clearing it?" ...
"Because of my neck" ...
"Your what?" ...
"My neck" ...
"Your neck? Does your neck hurt?" ...
"No. It just makes me clear my throat"

Ah little kids. So inscrutable. But that was enough for me. Amanda took him to the doc today. And you know what? Strep. What can I say, but you gotta know your kids' quirks. The docs have to tow the financial risk/benefit insurance baggage with everything they suggest to you. Amanda's going to the doctor tomorrow for her inevitably positive test. We should get a full day of antibiotic overlap for all four of us before my prescription finishes up. A new set of toothbrushes, clean laundry, dishes, and a good lysol fogging should set us up pretty nicely.

Don't catch this thing. It is eeeveeil.