Banana straws

Recently I invested in a food dehydrator. Just the sound of that makes me feel that I'm definitely not cool anymore but, anyway, I not only bought one but I like it and I use it regularly. So far, my favorite things to dry are mangoes, bananas, and strawberries. Although I ultimately want the kids to enjoy them as snacks, I find myself eating way too many of them as I peel them off the trays. I justify it that I'm testing to see how dry they actually are. "Hmm....that one was dry. That one was dry. That one was dry. Let's try one more. . . ."



When I first did this, all three boys swarmed me as I handed out the dried goods. Now, the twins are the only ones swarming and my oldest emphatically denies even trying one. Well, until I had a moment of mommy brilliance! He'd seen the plate full of dried bananas (which up until now I called "banana chips" to pretend they were unhealthy enough for his appetite) so I knew I needed a new disguise. Recently, my husband had bought some veggie chips that were in the shape of straws. The boys found them fun to whistle before they ate them. "Ah-hah!" So, with a little extra effort, I rolled the slices which are very nice and pliable when dried into little straws. Not only did he enjoy whistling through them, he gobbled them up. The funniest thing to me was that he saw me rolling them - the same bananas that were yucky looking beforehand. Shows how a little change in perspective can increase a stubborn kiddos appetite.



Ending with a silly pun, I guess I need to roll with the punches when it comes to feeding these little rascals.

What was I thinking?

The house was quiet - eerily so. This house should only be quiet when we're gone or when the smaller 3/5 of the house are sleeping soundly. Neither of those applied so I knew something wasn't right. I was in ear shot of all the guys and I had been paying attention to their movements for a while but then what I thought was a temporary lull in activity extended into the dangerous territory of being quiet for too long. It was time to investigate.

I found the eldest playing quietly by himself - good job! That left the twins. Nothing more dangerous than two mobile boogers teaming up in their mischievous pursuits. I saw signs of them before I actually tracked them down. They left the telltale sign of my bad decision to let them eat popsicles in the house - what was I thinking? A little drop of green here, a red drop there. I quietly followed the drips to the music room where they had closed the door. Hmmm.... I didn't want to open the door and find them playing nicely together and risk disturbing a wonderful moment for me! I also didn't want to ignore what my mommy instinct told me was too risky to ignore. They were just too quiet.

I slowly opened the door. No babies but I could hear them now talking twin to each other. They were at least fine so that was good but what were they doing? Ahhh. The bathroom. Joy. Our once clean, white bathroom was now a rainbow of popsicle. Lime and strawberry flavored toilet and floor. How lovely. I herded the little rascals out of the bathroom and they were agreeable thankfully. Of course, they went immediately to the rug on the floor and a huge glob of popsicle splatted on the rug - at least it was the lime one instead of the strawberry one. As I closed the door to the bathroom behind me, noting to myself to remember to return to it to clean it, I paused as I turned back to look at the two little rascals with their messy faces and shirts. It's hard to be annoyed with them even when they're that messy. They simply looked adorable, adorably sticky and colorful.

They returned to being noisy again, especially after they fought being cleaned up. The bathroom was eventually cleaned and their sweet tracks wiped up. Rather than being annoyed with them for making a mess, I laughed at myself for being so stupid. Popsicles in the house? Seriously, what was I thinking?

Bedtime

On Mother's Day, my husband gave me the best gift a husband and father could give: a free day pass. He gave me a guilt-free, unlimited day to do whatever I wanted. With so few opportunities to have a day to myself, I struggled with what I was going to do with my day. Go on a day trip somewhere? Spend time with friends? Shop?

Although I always enjoy spending time with friends, I found myself craving time alone. Being alone is so rare these days. I cherish those few minutes in the day where I am completely alone and can relax. I also realized that I'm always doing something - whether it's taking care of babies, folding laundry or cleaning house, I rarely just sit quietly alone and rest. After a long weekend, I realized it was time for my special day. As coo coo as it sounds, I had the best vacation I could think up and it was free! I laid in bed, ate crackers, watched tv and napped the entire day. It was wonderful.

I have to say we're fortunate to have the house we have right now (even though we are trying to sell it) because the "grown up" part of the house is separated from the kids' section so it's almost like being in our own apartment when we're in our part of the house. That's ideal when solace is needed and I was enjoying it yesterday.

Although I was still in ear shot of the kids' tantrums and fussiness, they were surprisingly good the whole day. I enjoyed hearing them giggling with their daddy, knowing that they have a strong bond with him and that they don't solely rely on me. They're actually better with him. He says it's because they know they won't get as much from him as they do from me. I'm sure that's true. I probably make things a lot harder on myself by answering many of their needs, even when they're silly ones. It's the curse of being a mom. As Chris said to me before we had kids, "Moms are crazy." He didn't mean this in a bad way but I totally understand it now. We moms are nuts and our kids are lucky because we are.

So, I enjoyed my day. I knew I had had enough rest though when, as the evening approached, I was missing my boys, wanting to hold them and kiss them. I needed a break so I could enjoy them again and so I had something to give. I won't lie and say that I'm now stress-free and completely calm, because I'm not, but I at least I had a little while to rest and gain some perspective and to again appreciate what is important. I especially feel thankful that I have such a good and caring husband who gave me the best gift of all: rest. Thanks, honey.

Box of crackers

It's 1:30 in the morning. I obviously should be sleeping but one of the boys woke me up with some half heartfelt whimpers. They're asleep again and I'm not. I'm hungry and stressed. So, what does a good girl like me do in such a situation? Grab a box of crackers and a cold beer. What else?

Today (yesterday?), was a long day: two showings and a visit to the hospital. Both actually went well but the whirlwind of activity surrounding them wore me out, or what was left of me. I took the boys out to one of the dreaded malls, suffered the innumerable questions about my children and the groovy stroller (Valco Twin Runabout with the additional toddler seat, in case you’re curious), returned home with semi-grumpy, tired boys, and then left to see my Dad at the hospital who was recovering from "minor" surgery (if there is ever such a thing). The good thing was that I got to visit with my Dad for a good while and, most especially, the surgery seems to have been successful. Can't ask much more for that.

So, why I am up in the middle of the night drinking a beer and eating crackers? Well, let's see, today I mopped the kitchen, vacuumed all the carpeted rooms, waxed the furniture, scrubbed the rubber play mat in the play room, loaded children in and out of the car (one extra time when I discovered that one of the lame parking garages at the Galleria - blah - did not have elevators - is that even legal?), I ate a tiny sandwich of soy turkey (ick) before driving across town to the hospital. Also, I know I have at least one showing tomorrow and it's around the time I was planning to have my sweet, Uncle Don come out for lunch with the boys. My dilemma is that I can't figure out what the heck I'm going to do to make it work tomorrow. Should I cancel lunch? Should I take the kids on a walk during the showing or go somewhere? Should I eat another damn cracker and take another swig?

Obviously, I'm tired.

I think I may give off the impression that I handle my life pretty well despite its many obstacles and hurdles but, believe me, I have moments and I'm having one tonight. You can reach a point where you're just tired and want to surrender. "Uncle!" (Not Uncle Don, obviously, just alluding to asking for the pain to stop.) If I weren't so tired, I probably could easily figure out how best to handle tomorrow and, if I'm honest with myself, I know I will figure it out in the morning but right now the answers seem elusive because my energy is waning and my mind is muddled.

So, I'll sit here a little while longer, drink my beer, eat my crackers and listen to the rocking chair make its quiet creak as I rock myself to sleep once again.

Forever Texan

I've been tormented by my family for as long as my brain was actively firing about the fact that I wasn't born in Texas. It had less to do with my being born in Arkansas than the fact that I had broken a seemingly long tradition of being a native born Texan (if any of us honkies can be considered native). I was born in Hot Springs and we lived in Arkadelphia. My older brother, only a little over 3 then, had difficulty saying Arkadelphia. Instead, he called it Arkadelly. My sweet Pappaw named me the Arkadelly Queen.

From sharecroppers to cattle ranchers and plain city folk, my Texas heritage is rich with a wide range of stories covering various lifestyles. Inherent in all my family's past though is a strong connection to the land from whence most of us had sprung. Our horizons have varied from whirling wind mills, foreboding dust storms or electric thunderstorms to glass and steel skyscrapers piercing the hot, humid sky.

Wherever we have been, many common pleasures have been present: the smell of honeysuckle, blankets of bluebonnets, cool, sweet watermelons on a hot, hot August day, the soft coo-cooing of the gentle mourning dove, the joyful singing of the mockingbird. Fire-hot salsa and hot tortilla chips best complimented with a nice, cold margarita are like adding root stimulator to my long, deep roots nestled in the soil of my home.

As we have set things in motion which may lead us to leave the state of TX, I smell the honeysuckle a little more, I breathe in the hot air and I wonder what my children will know of Texas. I’m encouraged that my boys seem to have acquired my accent (my husband isn’t Texan so doesn’t have quite the same appreciation for it). I also understand that as long as my children associate love with Texas, they’ll find a piece of home here. Since Texas is filled with my family who loves them dearly, I’m confident that Texas will become a desired destination for them as well.

It may be that we won’t leave Texas and this mental exercise I’m undergoing may be pointless but, if we are, I’ll appreciate having paused to take it all in, the good and the bad, and let it fill my pores, my veins and my heart so I can take it with me wherever I go.

Blue green

I really have no business wearing shorts these days. Although I am getting trimmer, my legs are covered in scratches and bruises. The other night I counted around 13 but that was conservative since I counted as one bruise an area that technically had several small ones grouped together - I jokingly imagine that they are little hand print bruises. Today, I enjoyed the making of yet another bruise (with complimentary scratch) when Neil accidentally knocked one of their chairs over on my shin as he was eagerly making way for his car which was cruising a step in the play room. The chair was simply in his way. My shin wasn't very understanding.

When I woke up this morning, I put on a green shirt and blue shorts to match my bruises. A few hours later, I had to change my shirt, of course, because it was saturated in baby food and ick. I changed to purple and blue. It seemed fitting to change my colors like bruises do - the aging of wounds so to speak. Of course, I need to change the purple shirt now because more junk has been sprayed across it. Should I change to black or is that just pushing the bruise analogy too far?

Can

After months of reading, acquiring equipment and quiet contemplation, I took my first step toward preserving food. Last night, I lined up my first batch of canned goods, jalapeno salsa, and momentarily paused. The twelve jars, with their spicy fill still bubbling, represented a big accomplishment to me. I have wanted to do this for years. I couldn't help but wonder if I shared this moment with my grandmother who passed away in January. What was a normal part of life for her, was a new frontier for me, yet I felt that my canning just these few jars was creating a bridge between my generation where we purchase everything to hers where doing things from scratch was the norm.

I also was reminded of the book by Barbara Kingsolver that I recently read, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle which was truly an inspiration. In her book, she recounts her family's commitment to eat local foods or those they produced themselves for a year. With her poetic view of the ordinary and her soulful way of expressing it, she made a seemingly mundane topic magical, alluring and exciting. Thanks to her inspiration and that of other locavores, I made my jalapeno salsa from all locally grown produce, including onions from my own garden plot at a local community garden.

Tonight, I will find out if my first efforts at canning were truly successful when I test the seals on the jars. I'm filled with a tiny bit of apprehension since I only have books to reference regarding how to do it properly. Although the books I have are excellent (example: Ball's Complete Book of Home Preserving: 400 Delicious and Creative Recipes for Today), I still can't help but wish I had a coach to whom I could turn for my questions. As I watched my hands working in the kitchen last night, I secretly hoped the knowledge of my ancestors flowed through my hands and guided me. Magical and poetic thinking, I know, but preparing and preserving food for your family is a soulful activity that can open the doors to a deep and meaningful way of life that I think many of us these days are missing.

So, tonight when the kids are asleep in their beds, I will slowly test the seals on each of the 12 jars. With each jar, I will hold my breath. I know I'll be supremely disappointed if any of them fail, although I'll refuse to be discouraged from future attempts. I do hope though that I did it right and that I'll be able to be confident that I can, after all, can.

Riding the waves

We have had 32 showings in 4 weeks. 32 times we have left the house for strangers to evaluate, sometimes criticize, sometimes compliment the place we call home. Toys put away, carpet vacuumed, diaper smells eliminated or covered by yummy candles and "smelly sticks". I almost grow more attached to the house the more we make it nice.

As much as I try to be detached from unhelpful feelings, I find myself defending our house each time someone finds a "flaw" with it (from not liking the pedestal sink to finding the back yard too small) but when someone compliments its size, layout and general feel, my chest swells with pride. The rise and fall of being evaluated every day by strangers is a bit bizarre and emotionally exhausting at times.

Yesterday, we found out a couple we thought was very interested decided that the house wasn't a good fit for them. The night before, when we thought we were about to receive an offer, I began fantasizing about the next stage in the game: packing, moving and the adventure ahead of us. After finding out that they weren't interested, I was bummed. Moping around the house and being a grump, I finally got annoyed with myself and decided that enough was enough.

Stepping back, I evaluated the situation as this: selling the house is completely out of our control. If we sell it, we have things to look forward to. If we don't, we have things to look forward to. Essentially, the things that really matter will be the same whether we sell it or not. I decided what was most important was that I be a good mother to my children and a good spouse to my husband. Oh, and it would be good to be nice to me too.

So, instead of moping and allowing the tides of change and uncertainty beat me to death, I decided to break free of it and surf it like a groovy, hip, happy chic and to hell with letting things get to me.

Disarmed

I try to avoid the malls like the plague. Although I once walked briskly through their halls as a teenager, fantasizing about being able to purchase everything I wanted, I now find them hauntingly soul-less, unnatural and depressing. Their vastness, the piped in air and the focus on consuming innumerable products left me feeling hollow when I left. Knowing that I have an unpopular opinion of malls, I feel like a traitor to myself and my children any time I wheel them around these consumer meccas. My oldest wants to go to the malls all the time now and it truly makes me sick.

Why do I go? Free entertainment pure and simple. Since our house is on the market, it is one place we can quickly go where the children can be entertained safely, comfortably and free. Meanwhile, I try to internalize all my negative feelings and simply enjoy the fun my kids are having.

The last time we were at a mall, I was wheeling the boys around, killing time and I made the controversial (to myself and my husband who wasn't present but in my head) decision to go into the Disney store. Stacked from floor to ceiling and busting off their shelves and into the aisles were endless products and must-haves for children of all ages. As a kid, I'm sure the place was magical and amazing. To me, it was nauseating. Obviously, there is nothing evil about the products they were selling but the people behind the products, the big daddy executives and the marketing whores were whose stench I couldn't remove from my nose as I wheeled through the aisles.

There were so many products stuffed into the space that I began to find it difficult to wheel our double stroller through the aisles. With effort I managed to wind my way to the back of the store only to find myself stuck, trapped in Disney hell with three children eyeing everything with awe. It was time to go but I simply couldn't. Down one aisle stood a woman oblivious to my needs and down the other was a salesperson coming our way to discuss my babies, the stroller and how she could possibly help us purchase some product. I decided that I had to go toward the salesperson because the other woman was intent on examining all the varied goodies on her aisle.

I talked with the salesperson politely as I pushed the stroller toward her. At the tightest spot in the aisle, I found myself next to a mannequin sporting some merchandise that someone was going to have to have. Blushing with effort and gagging from my distaste of the store, I tried to be as polite as I could as the saleswoman began handing the boys cards for Narnia - just what they needed: free advertisements just for us. As all my feelings of annoyance and claustrophobia set in I inadvertently knocked the arm off the mannequin. Oops.

Making the joke that the aisles weren't designed for my ridiculously large brood, I apologized to the saleslady who was relatively understanding about it. I managed to free the stroller from the narrow passage and fled quickly from the store. Once I had relaxed and felt a safe distance away from the confines of the Disney store, I couldn't help but laugh at my unintended destruction of the mannequin. Obviously, what I did was relatively minor but I contented myself by pretending that I'd just stuck it to the man.

Taking it in

Tonight, I was casually complaining yet again about the annoying tendency for people not only to be curious about all my children when we go out in public but the frequency of strangers to just ogle us without any idea how rude they're being. It's one thing for someone to look at us as we walk past them but it's an entirely different thing for them to stop mid-step, drop their jaw and stare at us in disbelief as we walk by. It's worse when there is a group of people since they feel even less inhibited and may discuss my family and my situation loudly as if we're not even present or capable of hearing them. Of course, there are also many people who will want to talk with me about my boys which I will do to an extent but like Willie Nelson singing, "Momma, don't let your babies be cowboys" for the 1 millionth time, I'm not very enthusiastic about responding to the same comments and questions posed to me every time I walk out the door with them. Having heard me complain about this before, my husband makes the joke that maybe they just think I'm hot. Quite amusing.



The funniest thing about his comment though is that it made me aware of something I had not considered before: my ridiculous tendency at times to get an unusual amount of attention, even when I'm really just trying to get through my days. When I was younger, I was sort of cute - cute in the all-American girl kind of way. To be honest, being blond, blue-eyed and skinny is rather boring. I couldn't take credit for how I looked. I was just how I was. Of course, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't come in handy when their was a hot guy I liked but there were plenty of times that I would have prefered to blend in with everyone else.



Again, I was no real beauty. Unintentionally, my trusting nature, naivety and youth invited all the predators to swarm me since I appeared to be easy prey. Good thing I wasn't but there were many instances where I found myself at risk. From strange men trying to get me to get in their pick ups to go to who knows where to being asked to have my photo taken with a large number of Japanese men in a tourest group who took a fancy to me, I have had some strange moments. I can't imagine what a woman with real beauty must go through if I experienced such things. The good thing is I survived all of that and I now am a grown woman who no longer draws the attention of horny, older men - either that or they can tell that I'd grind their balls into a powder if they got near me.



Since it has been such a long while since I turned heads like the days of my youth, I find it odd to yet again be in the spot light so to speak and I find it rather aggravating. I know that people mean well most of the time - I really do - but it gets old. As moms can attest, there are times when you're with your children and you're just not having a good day. All you want to do is to get from point A to point B without your kids misbehaving. When I'm having moments like that with any of my children, the last thing I want to be conscious of is some mouth-gaping goof gawking at me and my children. As I was getting a little beyond frustrated with one of my children today, some loud lady yelled, "Triplets?" to me and, unfortunately, my cursory response was anything but pleasant. I hoped that she didn't pick up on my anger but, then again, she wasn't considering me when she blabbed.



Despite my husband's amusing comments that people are looking at me because they think I'm hot, I laugh at how my life has changed in regard to how I get attention these days. At least I know how to handle it somewhat and I appreciate the fact that the people who gawk nowadays are doing it for much more benign reasons. I'll try to be more understanding to those who are polite enough to not do a 360 when we pass by but I can't say that I'll always have a kind word when one baby is screaming, another needs his diaper changed and the third is pulling my shirt up to expose my stretch marks to the world and some kind-hearted person is amazed by the fact that I have 3 children - the three children that I spend every waking moment with and who are not the least bit new to me. Yes, they are darling. They really are now get out of my way. Thanks. :-)

Rebirth

It seems I'm living in two worlds these days: one which is focused on an unknown future and one which is looking back to remember the paths that led me here. There was a time in my youth that I focused a lot of energy on my past, mulling over endless details as I found ways to regret many of the choices I had made. Once I met my husband and had my children, though, I focused on the present and the future and essentially forgot a lot of my past. Looking back over my shoulder nowadays, I see a different past than I had seen before. When I put aside all my regrets and focus on the substantive and meaningful parts, I realize how rich a childhood I had and how much of it I left it behind.

Last night, I had dinner with someone with whom I had been friends and had known since 1st grade. We hadn't seen each other in 17 years. As cliche as it is, I felt that we picked up where we had left off with the exception that we had 17 years worth of life to catch up on. As she laughed, I was reminded of her laugh back then. As she made funny statements, I remembered how witty and smart she always was. I couldn't help but regret the times we missed sharing together and I tried to remember why we drifted apart. As I pondered it, little memories popped up in my mind and I couldn't help but realize how trivial the reasons were for why I had pulled back and disappeared. I also realized that I did that to a lot of people at about the same time. I can only surmise that I was trying to find out who I was and I felt I could only do it by leaving my past behind me. Although I found reasons to "justify" my withdrawal, I think that I was looking for a way to shed my old skin in order for the new to appear. It was a time when I was very self-absorbed and unable to share friendships with anyone for very long.

I can't help but wonder what my life would be like now if I had held on to my old friendships. Perhaps I would have felt less lonely in vulnerable times or I would have heeded the advice of friends who had their heads on better than I did at that time. There is no way to know at this point and there is nothing I can do about decisions I made at the time. The good thing is that I have reconnected with my friend and I'm pleased to have the opportunity to know her once again.

Although she and I have matured and changed considerably over the years and have experienced our share of hardships, it was nice and reassuring to sense that she was still the same person at the core that I knew then and that, oddly enough, so was I. We both have new people in our lives, changed relationships with some that we had had before and our lives are richer than they were in our awkward, soul-searching days as teenagers.

As the evening came to a close, I felt very content that a part of my past felt at peace and that my future has the potential to be richer now that she and I have reconnected. If anything, it's nice to feel a connection with another soul with whom I've travelled with through life even if we've been on different paths. There is always the possibility that, with our busy lives, we may not communicate as often as I'd hope but at least we know where the other is and we have the opportunity to know one another again.

Showing

Before our house was on the market, I practically worked up a sweat worrying about how the hell I was going to manage the stress of bundling the kids up and running out the door at a moments notice while somehow making our house appear calm, clean and uncluttered enough for someone to come in and think, "Wow. What a great house! I'd love to live here." Most people who visit us, usually go away thanking their lucky stars that they don't have to live with us.

It's been a little over 2 weeks now since we put the house on the market and we've had around 23 showings, an open house and an agent's office tour and, not only have we survived, we've gotten positive feedback (including house of the week), we've had a few relatively interested buyers (although no official bids yet) and we've discovered that we're actually having fun more often than not.

When it was time to put the house on the market I had to get past my worries and figure out survival techniques. None of them are particularly amazing but they have proved to be very helpful - so much so that I plan on continuing some of these things even after the house is, uh, sold? Here are just a few things that I've done that have helped:

* Snack bag and cooler packed and ready: Instead of scrambling to pack snacks and drinks at right before leaving, we pack a bag full of non-perishable snacks and put perishables in a small cooler which stays in the fridge until it's time to leave. We have had showings without little more than 30 minutes notice so that is particularly helpful when we have had to flee the house quickly.

* Off limits rooms: In the morning, Chris and I get our bedroom and bathroom completely ready for showing and then keep the door closed so the boys can't go in there. We also do this with any other rooms that the children won't need to go in. When it's time to show, all we have to do is open those rooms up as we leave and they're already ready and free of boogers, toys and other such nonsense.

* Gates for temporary off-limit rooms: If we have enough notice, I can place gates in certain areas that I can clean up and keep the kiddos out of until we leave. We use this for their rooms particularly when they're busy playing in the play room and not interested in going in their rooms.

* Good and trustworthy cleaning person: I have a wonderful person who comes to clean our house. We can't afford to do this all the time so this is temporary but it is completely worth every single penny. I figure it's better to use the money on cleaning rather than therapy.

* Car seats: When everything is as finished as possible, I get all the little rascals in their car seats in the car (with the garage door down and the car off, obviously, for safety sake) and then I run like a freak around the house to do the last minute fixes. These are things that the boys would immediately un-do if they were in the house. This lasts less than 2 or 3 minutes and the boys usually are too busy giggling together in the car to even notice.

* Fun and free places to go: Since the boys are putting up with us grown ups, we're trying to make this a fun thing for them. When it's nice outside, we take them to parks. When it's not, we go to the awful malls and let them play there. When they're hungry and they really need something special, we take them to the evil Burger Kings or McDs of the world while muttering under our breath about how we hate the places, while we can't help but secretly wish that every place could be so kid friendly and (relatively) affordable.

The one thing that surprised me the most is that I discovered I could handle all 3 boys on my own in settings that I didn't think I could do before. I had had frightening visions of losing one or more of my boys among the swarm of kids at the mall for example but I discovered yet again that fears are often overblown and that, if I keep my wits about me, it isn't that bad after all. (One technique I use at places like the mall is that I dress the boys in similar if not idential outfits - usually bright colors too - so that I can easily spot them among the kids. I also find a seat near the exit of the play area and guard it like a hawk.)

Another giant reward of all this is that the boys have had a complete blast. Why wouldn't they? They're getting out the house, seeing new things and just enjoying being kids. How wonderful. It gives me a lot of satisfaction to make their life more fun and enjoyable rather than have their world's be disrupted by what is sometimes stressful and hectic for us adults.

As I have found many times before, it's important not to let fear and insecurity prevent me from trying new things and challenging myself a little bit more. It has been 100% worth it so far regardless of whether the house sells or not. So, we're on the market and we may be for a long time but, whatever the results, I feel we've made a potentially stressful situation and turned it into something fun and rewarding for all of us.

Poisoned

It's been a long time since I gave up the illusion that Friday night's were a time for hanging out with friends, having a brew and experiencing carefree merriment. Although I still am blessed with the occasional opportunity to do just that, more times than not I find myself tucked in bed early and asleep before 10:30. Last night was altogether different. Unlike normal nights, I didn't go to bed until at least midnight but, also unlike the fun Friday's of my youthful, pre-children days, I was definitely not having fun.

It must have been the lettuce. I was the only one who ate it and, boy, am I glad that my boys, including my husband, weren't eager to chow down on a good salad. My body is probably as passionate as my heart because when it does something, it goes all out. Every bit of anything in my gut was out and out and out. I was dehydrated quickly and begging for a ride to the hospital as I lay face down on the cold, ceramic tile in our bathroom. I was supremely defeated and helpless.

Help arrived via my wonderful parents and my sweet husband. Down to a regional hospital, wheeled into the ER because I couldn't even lift my head much less my feet, we waited in the waiting room. I fought off passing out as much as I could by repeating the names of my children in my head and I begged for mercy to be given a sweet, sweet IV because I knew I was dehydrated. Thank God for the triage nurse who saw that I was "pitiful" and also had difficulty finding my blood pressure. Off to the back I went with my barf bucket in tow.

Oh, sweet, merciful medical care. I couldn't help but ponder as my body took in the fluid what a person would do if they didn't have access to care. Although we had tried to rehydrate me at home, I simply could not keep anything down. I thanked my lucky stars as I began to focus again, my nausea subsided and the stomach cramps eased to a dull, sore pain. I joked with the nurse that I felt like I had just had a ridiculous ab work out. No doubt I lost a pound or two too. It sure wasn't worth it though. I can tell you that.

Two bags of IV fluids later and a prescription for anti-nausea meds, my hubby and Dad drove me back home where my tired Mom waited. The crisis over and the hour way into the evening, my sleepy but relieved parents drove home and I promptly fell asleep.

Throughout the ordeal, as I was at the mercy of my body's rejection of the food, I counted my blessings: my husband and children, my sweet, caring parents, and the professional staff at the hospital. It was odd that my evening went from carefree to crisis to relief so quickly and I was humbled yet again by how life can throw you a curve ball without any sign the ball is coming and going to knock you flat on your keister.

So, I'm eating lightly today and taking it easy for now. Any food that might have been the culprit is in the trash and I'm just supremely thankful that I was the only one who went through that last night. I now have a real appreciation for why they call it food poisoning and am glad that I had access to the antidote that got me through it. Thanks to everyone who helped me last night.