All Rileyed Up

“They were new dogs, utterly transformed by the harness.”

“He wanted… to have the leadership. It was his by right. He had earned it and he would not be content with less.”

“Mush on, poor sore feets,” the driver encouraged them as they tottered down the main street of Skaguay.

“She was pretty and soft, but she weighed one hundred twenty pounds—a lusty last straw to the load dragged by the weak and starving animals.”

“With the aurora borealis flaming cold overhead, of the stars leaping in the frost dance, and the land numb and frozen under its pall of snow, this song of the huskies might have been the defiance of life, only it was pitched in minor key, with long-drawn wailings and half-sobs, and was more the pleading of life, the articulate travail of existence.”

Oh, Jack, if you could see us now.

I took Little No Limit to the ER in the wee hours of the morning today. She woke us up at 4am with throw up in her hair.

You miserable vomitous mass.

On Saturday night, whilst walking the dogs and enjoying the last rays of sunlight and the roar of the ocean, Little No Limit took a dive. Onto the sidewalk. She hit it full frontal and banged her forehead. Normally, she’s a tough girl. Not right then. She cried, we comforted, a few minutes later, she was running home. I thought nothing of it.

Fast forward to 11pm. I walked into the kids’ room to check on them, because I need to make sure The Boy isn’t scratching in his sleep. Little No Limit was on the floor next to her bed, face down, fast asleep. The Notorious F.O.X. was sleeping in her bed, as she is wont to do:

What do you mean this isn’t my bed?

Of course, I considered the options – 1) Notorious F.O.X. kicked her off the bed. 2) Little No Limit was doing her cat routine and decided to sleep on the floor. 3) Sometimes, The Boy will sleep on the floor, and she often mimics him. Or 4) She fell off the bed.

As much as I am inclined to believe the first option, I had to give the fourth one consideration. If she had fallen off the bed, she might have hit her head on the chest of drawers, and furthermore, she’s never fallen off the bed before, so could that be considered loss of balance?

Which brings me to the vomit wake-up call at 4 am. I called the after hours nurse hotline and explained to them how she had hit her head once and possibly twice and she was throwing up several hours later (once or twice on her bed, once on me and my bed). The nurse said that whenever a head injury is involved, she has no choice but to send me to the ER, because that’s protocol. Nevermind the fact that the three calls before me were for stomach flu and Little No Limit just started preschool.

The nurse told me to put her in the car, bring a vomit pan and a change of clothes and go to the ER. In my rush to pack brought extra diapers, a blanket, a teddy bear, I forgot the vomit tray and extra clothes. She threw up on the bear and blanket in the car. It was awesome.

The doctors checked her out and deemed her more likely to have a stomach flu than to have head trauma, but said I could get a CAT scan if I really wanted one. I didn’t really want one. It would scare her. She might not sit still. I read some stupid fear-inducing article years ago about an accident involving a CAT scan (I remember all the details, but no need to aggravate your worst case scenario nightmares). I also didn’t want to have to choose. I wish he’d have just told me – yes, she needs one or no, she doesn’t. I asked him what would happen if I went home, were there other signs of head trauma I could look for. He gave me a list of symptoms to look for in the cases of both head trauma and stomach flu, and told me to visit the primary care physician on Monday. Or, should head trauma symptoms present themselves, to bring her back to him and he’d do a CAT scan.

We came home, I passed out for the few hours I had left before Husband went to work, and sadly cancelled my plans to take the kids to the Tall Ships Festival (I was so looking forward to the pirate stuff).

For the rest of today, I paid extra close attention to Little No Limit as she consumed 7-Up and Saltines. She stopped vomiting, a fever set in (101 degrees), and yellow pus formed in her eyes. You know what all of these are? Flu and virus-like symptoms. Know what she’s not showing? Any of the signs of head trauma.

So, the good news is she’s probably got the stomach flu or a random virus. Maybe pinkeye if I’m extra lucky. This means she won’t be going to school, her brother will likely catch it, and I’m sure Husband will too. Am I the only person in this home with a well-developed immune system???? To top it off, I can now hear the cannons going off at the Tall Ships Festival. I am missing pirates, people, Pirates! Oh well. Anything to avoid head trARGHma.

(This post part of the Carnival of Family Life, hosted this week by Mother Approves Blog).

So, I went to the gym.

That would make it my first visit since 2002.

It’s not that I haven’t been exercising all these years. I have a Total Gym (courtesy of Chuck Norris), and I walk all over the place. But Husband decided to join a gym and they had a spouse-for-free membership deal. That was at the end of July. I went today.

Hey, at least I went.

Walking into the gym for the first time in years, you can bet that I had not pictured it would be with a screaming child. I made Little No Limit leave her Malt-O-Meal Scooters (aka generic Cheerios) in the car and she was none too pleased about it. When I actually reached the child care area, I found out that they allowed snack food, as long as it didn’t have peanuts, so I hightailed it back to the car and brought back said fake Cheerios. Little No Limit immediately turned into an angel again.

Liar!

With the kids secure in the hands of Child Care/Watch A Movie Girl for three bucks an hour, I moved on to discover the World According to Gym.

What is the deal with the weight machines? I had to adjust every single one to accommodate my height. Is everyone in the world taller than me? If I were full Filipino, I might be inclined to believe that, but since I’m not…

At one of the leg machines, I found myself face to face with a man using the arm machines. (Incidentally, I was using the leg one because the nice man at the counter pointed out that I should want to work on my gluts, quads, and hamstrings, ie, I have a fat ass and saddlebags, why don’t I do something about that). Arm Machine Man wore a black T-shirt, baggy shorts, black socks and Vans. At the gym. He seriously could have walked right out of the gym and gone to work, where he is undoubtedly a bouncer (and a good one, judging from the amount of weights he pushed). He may also be the delivery guy for the pizza place across the parking lot from the gym (those guys are GENIUSES). I felt bad staring at Arm Machine Man, but I was really confused by his clothing. Granted, I had on a sports bra that I bought two years ago and had to tear the price tag off of when I put it on today, but at least I had on workout clothes. What was this guy up to, looking like he should be attending a Sublime concert circa 1995?

And that, my friends, is why I don’t belong in a gym. I am so not there to get my heart rate up or work on my gluts or ass or whatever the hell Counter Dude wants to call it. I am there to observe and inevitably mock people (don’t get me started on Stairmaster Girl, Running Man, or High School Wrestler). It’s not a nice thing to do, and though you may be surprised to hear it, I actually like to be nice.

So, the way I see it, I shouldn’t go to the gym. It gets in the way of my niceness.

James Patterson’s Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports is a book that lives up to its title, complete with gangs, explosions, and romance (hoo ha!).

Quick summary minus spoilers: Maximum Ride, better known as Max, is a smart-talking, fourteen year old girl who is the oldest of six children called bird kids. The bird kids are the result of experiments performed by genetic scientists heck-bent (PG-rated book, folks) on curing the world of war and greed and environmental destruction. How do these megalomaniacs plan to cure the world of said evils? Why, by killing everyone who contributes to the problems and creating a stronger, more powerful human species. It’s up to Max and her trusty flock to save the world from this “Re-Evolution.”

Now, some of you more faithful readers may know that I have issues with eagles. Although Patterson never specifies any particular species of bird the bird kids’ DNAs have been spliced with, I feel confident saying that Max would be a terrifying person to behold. She has WINGS, people, WINGS! (A point Max makes herself with such lines as “I blame you for altering my DNA! I mean, I have wings, lady! What were you thinking?”) Yet I read this entire book in one day because it was THAT CAPTIVATING AND ENJOYABLE. (I also thought this review was due a couple days ago and had put off reading it to the last minute, but do not let that deter you from the original point that this book is THAT CAPTIVATING AND ENJOYABLE).

My overall thought is this: if you are a boy or girl between the ages of 9-14, you will enjoy this book and likely get a decent vocabulary lesson out of it (and if you’re really good, you might catch the grammatical error in the first sentence of chapter 37). If you are the parent of said child, you may have just stumbled upon a book that will open your child’s eyes to the wonderful world of reading.

Why will boys like this? Danger. Excitement. Fight sequences. This book is quite comic book-esque, with its genetically altered heroes and snarky one-liners (Wolverine or Gambit, anyone?). See, the bird kids are considered an imperfect experiment, and those heck-bent scientists wish to “retire” them (a euphemism I’m sure you can interpret). This aspect gives every fight sequence the admirable quality of “fighting for one’s right to life.” Everyone deserves the right to live, no matter how different they are.

Why will girls like this? In short, Max. Max is one hundred percent female and one hundred percent bad mamma jamma. The leader of the flock, her catchphrase throughout the book is “There’s always a plan.” She is quick-thinking, assertive, confident, strong, and many more adjectives that lend themselves readily to the word “Heroine.” This girl takes care of herself, her friends, and the world (ie, she cares about her fellow people). If you really want to get a feel for Max, consider this line: “I know this will surprise you, but I don’t damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.” Come on, you know you prefer your daughter reading about tough witty girls like her instead of Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield (not that I know anything at all about Sweet Valley High).

Why will both boys and girls enjoy this book? Power in the hands of youth. It’s a book that rallies the young to take a stance for the world they are to inherit – it reminds children that they CAN make a difference, that it is within their grasp to foster new understandings of how to take care of the world, and that it’s okay to express dissatisfaction with the way “the grown-ups” (yes, that’s the word the book uses) handle things.

As for setting (which I’m a big fan of), Maximum Ride takes us to a handful of locales, thereby ensuring a future movie with beautiful “filmed on location!” sets. I’ve never read a book by Patterson before, although my cousin raves about the Alex Cross books. There are a couple point of view shifts that I didn’t catch until after the first couple sentences (personal pet peeve), but other than that, the pacing is excellent, and easy to read. While Patterson does capture the voice of a fourteen year old accurately, Max makes references to pop culture that I daresay a fourteen year old of today wouldn’t make. Do you know any fourteen year olds who reference Yogi Bear? Do they even know who Yogi Bear is? It’s only one sentence here and there, and not a big deal, because us “grown ups” will get those jokes.

On that note, I think I’m going to go participate in a beach clean up or protest a pharmaceutical company, or, I don’t know, start a blog and save the world. Happy reading.

Important things for you to know:

Buy the book here.

Read more about the book here.

Want to review books like this? Go here.

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A few days ago, Husband said this when I walked into the living room:

“Honey, can I do anything for you? Something that would make you really happy?” I blinked at him in response, not knowing where this was going. “Oh, I know! How about if I clean the bathrooms?”

Yes. That really happened. And now, I have clean bathrooms.

Yeah. I’m on top of the Jacuzzi. Whatcha gonna do about it?

See more pix here: wordless wednesday
Wordless Wednesday

Today, Husband and I drove to a convalescent home to visit Husband’s Grandpa. We were told a few days ago that his state of health had changed and he might not live much longer. Given the description, I was amazed at Grandpa’s good spirits. He talked to us, pretended to tickle Little No Limit, and noted that The Boy looks just like Husband.

Throughout the conversation, his main remark was “Can you take me home?” The number is countless, how many times he asked us to do this. I chickened out and left the task to Husband to tell him we couldn’t do that. At one point, Grandpa said “Okay, you can’t take me home. Can you give me some money and I’ll take the bus?” Later, he said, “Can you just take me outside and show me your car?” We’re pretty sure Grandpa is formulating plans in the back of his mind on how get out of there. After all, he’s a decorated WWII vet who escaped a Nazi prison camp. Nursing homes aren’t nearly so strict.

Little No Limit and The Boy came with us to visit their Great Grandpa. Because Grandpa’s room had no seating, we went to the dining room, where Grandpa surprised us by asking for oatmeal (we had heard that the reason for his downward turn in health was from not eating). I left to get oatmeal, but the kitchen said they only served it in the morning, and gave me chocolate ice cream instead. Um, okay.

I returned with ice cream and Grandpa dug into it. The aide brought out additional ice cream cups “for the kids.” I did not have the opportunity to stop her and say that The Boy is not supposed to eat ice cream cup, because it contains milk, cream, and whey. And when Grandpa offered The Boy the ice cream, The Boy’s face lit up, an illumination that spread immediately onto Grandpa’s face.

It’s true, The Boy shouldn’t eat ice cream, but it’s not going to send him into anaphylactic seizure and kill him. It will make him itchy. I understand his discomfort level is about to go up enormously because of this ice cream cup. Believe me, I do. But there are some things I cannot say no to. An eighty year old man asking to eat ice cream with his great grandson is one of them.
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(This post was contributed to the Carnival of Family Life. You can read others at My Two Boys.)