That, to your left, is one sick little boy. Miserable with snot. Hopped up on triaminic. Showered with popsicles and tissues.

Blame it on preschool. Blame it on his little snot nosed friend that always seems sick. Blame it on the flu shot he got Friday. Whatever the reason, Count Waffles the Terrible got hit hard by the mother-of-all snot producing viruses this weekend and is threatening to bring the rest of the house down with him.

As we sat in a steamed up bathroom at 1am, the smell of Vic’s nearly burning my nostrils and not even remotely affecting his, I wondered how often this scene is repeated in homes across the world. I clearly remember doing it with my Mother. Having your achey body pulled from the couch to sit all sweaty on Mom’s lap, reeking of menthol, while your PJ’s cling to your chest.

I sat there rocking, singing, trying to soothe him in anyway I could. Wishing this nasty, nasty germ would pack up and get the hell out of our house. And then I smacked myself back into reality. We are very lucky. We are very, very, very lucky. And don’t you ever, ever forget that. He only has a cold. One of one million he will have. One of many hundreds of times we will sit in this vaporized bathroom and on a slick, cool toilet.

The reason I smacked myself back into reality, during what can rightfully be called a suck-ass Motherhood moment, is because I remembered a friend. She’s not even a friend really. More someone I knew for a short period of time. We did Stroller Strides together, back after the Count was born and her son was about his age. She had her second baby right after (or was it right before?) I had the Princess. They moved away. They moved away and I forgot about them. I forgot about them and I got an email. I got an email that made me always, always remember how good things are around here. You see, her second child, born just before (or was it after?) my second child, has cancer. Cancer. Just typing that hurts.

At 2 months old, little Cruz was diagnosed with Acute Neuroblastoma, an aggressive cancer. They found it at his routine 2 month check up. He has undergone multiple rounds of Chemotherapy, had major surgery to remove the tumor, and is expected to undergo more chemo. I get email updates through the Stroller Strides network. The last one I got made me sick in the way only a mother feels sick. In the pit of her stomach. In the deep, dark, depths of her larger than life heart.

Cruz was going into surgery. The family had been through so very much. In and out of the hospital so, so many times in his short life. Apparently everytime they go into this hospital, Cruz is put into the standard yellow and black pediatric gown. This time, when the hour came to put Cruz in that gown and take him to surgery, his mother lost it. She did not want to put that damn gown on him again. She just couldn’t stand to see him in that yellow and black thing one more time. It was her breakdown moment. The moment, this always perky, cheerful girl, finally had enough. Over a gown. She is so brave. So very brave. And her equally brave husband calmed her down. Talked her down. And they dressed the baby in that gown and sent him off to surgery. While I will never understand what this family is going through, I understand how dressing her little baby in that hospital gown this last time broke her. Cruz came out of the surgery well. He’s got more chemo scheduled. They are continuing the battle.

So as I ramp up for another day of snot and tissues and vic’s and triaminic and thermometers. I’ll keep telling myself, its only a cold. Its only a cold. Its only a cold.

Anyone interested in donating to the Barron family for Cruz’s skyrocketing medical costs, feel free to contact me.

Daddy is home.
Football is on the TV.
I can pee by myself instead of with one child on my lap and the other running out the bathroom door with a trail of toilet paper.
The Kaiser grills.
Did I mention the whole Daddy is home thing? Seriously. Look at that picture. Everyone is occupied. I’m going to open a beer and go hide somewhere. Because I can.
Happy weekend everyone.

That’s what it looks like in my house right now. That’s not sunset. That’s red/gray, crazy, smoke covered sky with some tiny bits of sunlight creeping in here and there. And its totally appropriate for the way the day has gone.

The Princess had a great check up. 17lbs. 75% on everything but her head-which has always been tiny. Oh, had I of had a vaginal delivery, it might have actually been ok. But anyway. I made an executive decision while at the pediatrician to get ALL of us flu shots. Its early in the season. No one is thinking about them yet, so they are in full supply. I won’t have to wait in line later, etc. etc. What I didn’t calculate was the holding of the baby while the toddler got stuck and the mother got stuck and the baby was mad from being poked at and undressed. What with the flailing of the arms and the screaming and the sticky, sticky suckers and the bandaids that MUST be spiderman and NOT daffy duck…and did I mention the screaming and the flailing and the lavin? Hhrrrrmph. Ok, poor planning. I didn’t bring in the carseat. Its so much easier to deal with the Count without lugging that thing around. I also didn’t bring any bribes for the Count, or prepare him for the fact he’d be getting a shot.

With my not-so-cat-like reflexes I commandeered the doctor’s lollipop/sticker bin and explained to the toddler that while he was told many times today’s visit was for his sister…as it turns out Mommy lied and he’ll be getting an owie too.

Oh the hilarity that ensued.

I got the shot first. See how easy it is? Mommy can do it. You can do it too big boy! Last year, I remember it not even remotely hurting. Must have been the pregnancy. Because this year, it hurt like a mutherfucker. That deep shot hurt. But I gotta keep a brave face. Because the Count is watching. Closely. Now while I’m getting stuck, the Princess has fallen asleep. Randomly. In my lap. So I nicely and in a near begging tone ask if someone, anyone, can hold HRH the Princess while I calmly hold her brother while he gets stuck. A very nice woman from the Peds office was more than happy to take the sleeping, gorgeous child out of my arms and PARADE her around that place (picking up every sick kids’ germ, no doubt) to show her off. I’ll take it as a compliment the woman who see kids ALL DAY LONG wants to show off my pretty little girl…but come on. IN THE SICK KID SECTION? Sorry, I’m digressing here.

I hold the Count and tell him its time for his owie. He watched me. I took it fine, he figures. So he sits all nice. Then the nurse says…umm…lets move him to the table and lay him down. I want to give it to him in his thigh instead. Oh sweet Jesus. You want to lay him down and restrain him??? Now we’re in full blown crisis mode. Count Waffles KNOWS whats up and has begun channeling Satan. I lie more and tell him it will tickle, hand him a sucker, and hold him like I’ve never held anyone before. He gets stuck. He whimpers for a long, long time. I’ve betrayed him.

Now its time to wake the Peanut and stick her. The joy. First we have to TRACK DOWN the lady who TOOK her, then we have to lay her on the table. She’s still asleep. Ok. So do we wake her with the stick of the needle or do we just wake her? But see, I can’t be in two places at once and the Count is screaming for me to hold him, but I really can’t leave the Princess as she gets stuck. So I lift the Count on one hip (jesus my arm hurts from that shot), hold down the Princess with my free arm, jostle her a little to wake her. And then she gets THREE shots. This pleases Count Waffles, who happily jumps off my hip to run around.

We return home with Happy Meals and lollipops. Then the fun really starts. A new wildfire breaks out about 10 miles from us. Not close enough to worry us, but close enough to send smoke and ashes our way. Then the Princess starts pooping. SOUR DIARRHEA SICK POOP. And the Count starts whining. He’s hot. Fever hot. My arm hurts like a sonofabitch and if they are feeling half of what I’m feeling we’re in for a long, long day. What the hell was I thinking?

Sarah has called me out. Apparently this is a blog thing. I’m learning. And since she also called out every blogger I know…readers feel free to just add theirs to the comments. Or not. Whatever

1. Legal First name? Erin.
2. Were you named after anyone? No.
3. Do you wish on stars? Yes. Habitually.
4. When did you last cry? Last night. In bed. See previous post.
5. What is your favorite lunch meat? Bologna.
6. What is your birth date? December 10th
7. Whats your most embarrassing CD? Are you kidding? The list goes on and on. Off the top of my head I’d say “Milla.”
8. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? Hmmm. Probably not. I have a hard time keeping girlfriends. I’d probably say something to piss myself off.
9. Do you use sarcasm a lot? Oh. No. Never.
10. What are your nicknames? Eno-beeno. Moose. Kotex.
11. Would you bungee jump? Yes. And I have.
12. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Nope
13. Do you think that you are strong? Yes. I could kick your ass.
14. What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Better Batter at Maggie Moo’s.
15. Shoe Size? Pre-kids 6.5. After kids 7.
16. Red or pink? That just might be the hardest question on here. I love them both. More than any woman should love colors.
17. What is your least favorite thing about yourself? My inability to do math.
18. Who do you miss most? My Mom and Dad.
19. What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Jeans. Barefoot.
20. What are you listening to right now? Modern Girl Sleater-Kinney
21. What did you eat for breakfast? Coffee and fat free vanilla creamer
22. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Barbie Pink.
23. What is the weather like right now? Hot and smokey.
24. Last person you talked to on the phone? The Kaiser
25.The first things you notice about the opposite sex? Cleanliness
26. Do you like the person who sent this to you? Sarah? Love her.
27. Favorite Drink? Lately I’m addicted to Arnold Palmers
28. Hair Color? Today its kinda red kinda brown.
29. Do you wear contacts? nope.
30. Favorite Food? Mexican.
31. Last Movie You Watched? Ray.
32. Favorite Day Of The Year? New Years Eve.
33. Scary Movies Or Happy Endings? Totally a Happy Ending chick movie chick.
34. Summer Or Winter? Winter, only because its so freaking hot right now.
35. Hugs OR Kisses? Hugs
36. What Is Your Favorite Dessert? creme brule
37. Living Arrangements? Kaiser, Count Waffles, Princess Peanut, Houseboy, Murphy, Jub-Jub, Seri, in a house.
38. What Books Are You Reading? The Last Girls. Lee Smith.
39. What’s On Your Mouse Pad? The Count, driving a red fire engine.
40.What Did You Watch Last night on TV? The Daily Show
41. Favorite Smells? Jasmine on a summer night in So Cal, those big ass trees in Northern Cal.
42. Favorite junk food? Taco Bell
43. Rolling Stones or Beatles? Neither really
44. What’s the farthest you’ve been from home? Dublin, Ireland when on East Coast. Tahiti when on West Coast.

Sap Alert. Sap Alert. The Queen is in Mushy mode. Kaiser beware when you get home. Count and Princess run for the hills, because the kisses and hugs will be never ending today>>>>

With that disclaimer out of the way…Today is Princess Peanut’s 6-month birthday and check-up. Yes, I am that anal. I schedule their check ups EXACTLY on the day they should go. But instead of agonizing about shots, I’m finding myself getting all sentimental and I think I know why. I really, really, really don’t want all of this to go by too quickly. And I know. I just KNOW it will.

I can remember clearly the Count’s check ups. Getting excited (what was wrong with me?) for every one of them because he would be weighed and measured and growing. How much did he grow? When can he start solids? When will he crawl (as it turned out, never)? When will he walk? Talk? I couldn’t wait for these things to happen. I know better with the Princess. I know I want her to slow down.

But its not that simple. You see, I also would like time to just stop. Last night, I wanted it to stop so badly I nearly cried watching the clock change. You see, the Count and I now have a thing. Its one of those truly unique parent/kid things that develops slowly and suddenly becomes “your thing.” Ours started when Count Waffles became (and still is) obsessed with being outdoors all the time. Trying to get him to stay inside for 5 more minutes one day, I hugged him and said “I love you” and then tagged on “inside” to try and get him to stay put (as boys tend to really NOT want to do) for just a few more minutes. So it became “I love you inside.” The Count responded with “I love you…outside” and he had the most devilish look on his face. So I said “I love you everywhere.” That’s how it started. Then it took on a life of its own. Nightly, daily, whenever, the Count and I always said our “I love yous” with our little routine. I love you outside. I love you inside. I love you everywhere.

Last night the Count had a nightmare. When the comforting in his bed (at the foot of our bed) didn’t work. He crawled in with us. Just as he was passing out, he tucked his little head in the crook of my neck and squeezed. “Mommy” he said. “I wuv you outside. And inside. And everywhere.” And then he was asleep.

I lay there with my son, curled up on my left. And my daughter curled up on my right. My husband snoring softly. And if I had the power, I would have stopped time forever.

So forgive me if I’m not looking forward to today’s 6-month Princess check up. Because its here way too soon.

Because today after school. After his nap. After a popsicle. The Count and I had this conversation:
“What in my butt-butt Mommy?”
“ummm…poops?”
“No…day on da floor Mommy.”
Uh-oh.
“You went poops on the floor????”
“Yes”
“In the playroom?”
“Yes”
“You went poopies on the floor in the playroom?” Compose yourself. Compose yourself, How bad can toddler shits stain, right????
“Yes Mommy. Day right o-her here.” (pointing)
I could discuss what the Count had for lunch yesterday and dinner last night, but I think all I will say is corn was on the menu.
“Honey, we don’t go poopies on the floor. Where do we go poopies?”
“In da potty, Mommy. I no like da potty. I like da floor.”
So did I my little love. So did I.
To recap: in underwear 7 days. Items lost forever: 1 tupperware bowl, 1 harmonica, 1 living room carpet.

I had forgotten the horrors of teething. Maybe it was that Mom amnesia thing. Maybe the martinis. Whatever the reason, my mind seems to have just blocked out the whimpering and chewing and droooooooooooooooooooling of Count Waffles back in the day. The boy could soak three bibs and his outfit in seconds. He had a rash on his chin and chest for christ’s sake and he only came off the boob to get a diaper change. How is that forgettable?

Well, I did forget. And as we enter week 10 of teething with Princess Peanut (see the drool??) and still no teeth, I’m longing for the day she cuts those molars and we have a big friggin party to celebrate. In fact, I think there are milestone parties all parents must have. Feel free to add the ones I forgot.

1) Weaning. Moms only party. Lots and lots and lots of booze. Some “can’t use while nursing” drugs. And all foods gassy. To be followed by the …
2) Boobs once again for play party. The milk is gone and the husband feels free to fondle without fear!
3) Sleeping through the night party. Send the little darlings off to night-night land and then…well…you could party…but you may just want to sleep.
for family bed broods like us there is the…
4) Kids are actually in another room and in their own bed party. Use your imagination. (I’m sensing a pattern in my parties here…)
5)All teeth are IN party. Outdoors. I’m thinking more drinking combined with a bonfire to burn all teething objects and drool catchers.
6) Potty Party. Togas. Definitely togas.
7) Off to school party. This might be my favorite because it involves an old pact with Sarah…Moms gather as the school bus pulls away and drink Bloody Marys until the bus returns, or the husbands get home, whichever happens first.

Queen: harmonica in the toilet
Kaiser: I’m done playing that.
Queen: well, nothing but water. and i had just cleaned it. so it didn’t totally get pee-ified
Kaiser: it’s been in the toilet. Are you putting it in your mouth?
Queen: it was a clean toilet. and then i washed the harmonica. thats still bad?
Kaiser: I repeat: It’s been in the toilet. Are you willing to put into your mouth something that spent time in the same place I take shits.
Queen: ummmm
Queen: I could crack a really nasty joke here
Kaiser: sure.