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Here we go again

It’s been a fun week at the Moose lodge. Ryan was up with a cough and congestion all Saturday and most of Sunday night, and after two days of little sleep and point-blank sneezes to the face (not to mention the time he gave me a kiss on my cheek with his mucous-slathered face,) I was down for the count as well. By Monday I had full-blown bronchitis (again!) and now I’m on my third sick day this week. That was all while our furnace went out (briefly) Sunday night, we continue to battle the winter ant brigade, and Walgreens had my license and insurance card at their store for two days without bothering to call. Meanwhile, Gina is coming home from stressful days at work only to scrub the baby’s clothes, as the antibiotic he’s been on is giving him diarrhea.

Serenity now!

Down the hatch

The first time Gina bought me dinner did not go well. We went to Outback Steakhouse, our favorite restaurant, and I had the usual sirloin special, which promptly got stuck in my throat. I’d had a couple isolated incidents of gagging on food before, but this was worse than any of those. I ducked into the restroom. I’ll spare you what happened there. Suffice it to say it was not pleasant.

I returned to the table and tried my best to finish the rest of the meal. It was a special occasion that I didn’t want to spoil. But a few hunks of meat later I was back in the men’s room.

It was hard to play off two emergency trips within the span of ten minutes, so I told Gina what happened. We left Outback with my steak half eaten. A few blocks away I had to pull over. I was feeling worse than ever. I opened my door and in what I thought was quite a considerate moment, said “I don’t want to gross you out, babe, but BLARGHHHHHH.”

At which point I grossed Gina out.

That was five years ago, and I ended up getting a throat scope that revealed I had acid reflux. The reason it felt like I was getting food stuck in my throat was because I literally was. My throat was scarred so badly that it had to be blown up with a balloon in what I called a throatoplasty. Afterwards I was put on medication to reduce the acid in my stomach. The thought was if acid splashed up my throat, at least it would be diluted.

In the five years since I was feeling better and started to slack on my meds. Then sure enough we had steak recently and the old feeling returned.

So yesterday it was time for another endoscopy. Having had one before, I wasn’t as nervous as the first time around. For one thing, I didn’t opt to watch the “informational” video, which back then was still from the 80’s and showed a throat scope the size of a gutter. I laid on the gurney freaking out, thinking “how’s that going down my throat?” only to be wheeled in the surgical room to see the actual scopes were much thinner.

For anyone who’s facing an endoscope, I’d recommend the procedure. My throat wasn’t sore either time, and though I was conscious for both procedures I don’t remember a thing. They administer an IV of “joy juice,” which has amnesiatic properties. You’re aware what’s happening every moment but forget it the next second. They could have taken my wallet and car keys for all I knew or cared.

The verdict this time was that I had a mild blockage in my throat. I guess it’s time to behave myself.

But I’m not giving up my steak.

Blessed

Here’s Angie (in purple,) Gina and Amy after the girls made their first communion. They got to present the offertory gifts as part of their special day, and they beamed as they made their sacrament, although they thought the wine was strong.

We’re proud of the girls and the preparations they made, and we’re glad to have shared their journey.

Prize pupils

We’ve been preparing our nieces Angie and Amy to make their first communion. We talked to the pastor at Gina’s parish and got a preparation booklet from him, and spent several weekends working through the exercises with the kids. We thought they were well prepared and they were eager to receive the sacrament, so this morning we went to see the pastor for an interview.

As expected Angie and Amy passed with flying colors. The pastor was clearly impressed, pulling back in his chair several times. Amy even recited the order for the communion procession, down to which color of wood container you place your wine glass in whether it’s clean or used. I’m confident few candidates went into such minute detail, and tomorrow they’ll be taking the gifts up at Mass and receiving their first communion.

Congratulations, Amy and Angie! You’ve made your teachers proud!

Angels

Gina and I were squabbling on our way to get our marriage license. It wasn’t a major argument, and I forget what it was about. But things were a little tense as we walked into the government center.

There was only one other couple in the license branch that day, plus an elderly man who took a seat across from us as we waited. He asked us if we were there to get our marriage license, and we said that we were.

“Marriage is a wonderful thing,” the friendly gentleman said. And he proceeded to tell us about his wife and their long life together. He said she was his best friend and that they loved to travel together. How they went to Mexico and barely left the room, but that “that was all right.” How she’d passed away a few years before but he was grateful for their time together.

“Our marriage was free of pretense,” he said. That’s the phrase that stuck with me. It was an eloquent description of what I looked forward to with Gina. A marriage so right and comfortable that we could just be ourselves.

Our conversation was interrupted when the desk clerk called our name. Gina and I picked up our license. And when we turned around, the old man was gone.

Neither of us said anything until we got to the car. After the kindly stranger had spoken with such openness and warmth, we both felt silly about whatever it was we’d been disagreeing about. We apologized and then talked about the man who’d disappeared. And Gina said what we both were thinking:

“He was our angel.”

The reason I thought of this story is that today is a special day. Happy Birthday, Gina. You and Boo are my angels.

Boo gets busted

Ryan’s found a new use for his height: mooching off his classmates. We got a report that he was tooling around from one high chair to another, helping himself to the other babies’ Cheerios and sippy cups. Apparently Ryan never heard what a wise man once said, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

Okay, that was Spider-Man. But still! We can’t have our ten-month old running riot over the smaller kids. And by smaller kids, I mean anyone between zero and 24 months. The next thing you know he’ll be extorting the toddler room for protection money.

As far as we know he’s only been caught in the act one day so far. Hopefully the thrill is gone. He’s a bodyguard, not a bully.

Car swap

Gina had a back spasm Thursday that kept her home from work. She was going to pick the baby up when “an earthquake” shot through her. It’s her first major setback since she had the two procedures last fall.

Her back attack prompted us to trade cars, since Gina’s driving a coupe. It certainly wasn’t helping her case getting Boo in and out of the back seat. So I’m driving her beloved Pontiac and she’s got the Malibu. After the first day we made the swap Gina had a list of complaints. Her first one was the slanderous claim that my sweet ride is a mess. Her back pain must be worse than I thought. It’s made her hallucinate.

Up all night

Ryan was surprisingly chipper last night for someone who’d been to the dentist. With his newly-ground teeth, he was one happy clam who had no interest in bedtime. The first time I tried, he flipped over in his sleep sack and crawled to the head of the crib. Then he grabbed the bars above his bumper and pulled himself to his feet.

“What are you doing?” I asked him as he scooted along the crib. He tripped on his sleep sack, got his arm in the slats, and grazed his head on his hanging aquarium. I took him out of the sack and into the living room to let him burn off some energy.

At 11:00 I tried attempt number two and put Ryan back in his bed. Flip. Crawl. Pull up. He was back on his feet in a flash.

“Ryan, come on. Mommy and Daddy are tired. You need to go to sleep.”

He supported himself on his aquarium toy and pressed its play button repeatedly.

“Okay, I guess it’s not bedtime yet.” Back to the living room.

At midnight I was determined that the baby was going to bed. Back in his sleep sack. Back in his crib. Back to his feet. The stinker. He was resting his head against one arm but refused to lie down.

I picked Ryan up and sat with him on the recliner. He was fast asleep within minutes. At 12:30 it was our bed time. Ryan was up at 4:30. He cried loud enough to wake both of us. And there he was, standing again. We were sleep deprived and worried the baby would fall and hurt himself. Gina tried to soothe him but it took a short walk to get Ryan back down. By then my alarm was set to go off in another 20 minutes. I was not pleased with Ryan’s shenanigans.

Gina called at 8:15 after I dragged myself to work.

“Do you want to talk to Boo?” she said. “He’s standing in his crib.”

A little rough around the edges

Gina took Ryan to a pediatric dentist today. His chipped teeth both had rough edges, so while Gina and a nurse wrestled Boo the dentist used a drill to file them. The good news is it looks like the accident didn’t cause any permanent damage. We just have to keep an eye out for bruising and discoloration. The bad news is the lower tooth we thought was split is actually fused with its neighbor. This apparently isn’t uncommon (Ryan’s cousin Beth has the same thing) and the dentist says she won’t do anything about it until she X-rays Ryan’s teeth when he’s three. Until then we’ll try not to worry about it. We’re just thankful his top ones are okay.

As a consolation prize for his torture I bought the baby a toy. I picked out a bucket of colorful shapes with a lid full of holes they fit through. Meanwhile, Gina is reviewing the baby’s contract, which says that he can’t scare his mommy. I don’t think he knows how to read yet.

Dings and dunks

Ryan started and ended the weekend with a bang. After yesterday’s dental drama (we have to find a dentist for him tomorrow,) he had another scare at bath time tonight. He was trying to stand to reach something on the floor right outside the tub. I said, “No, Ryan” and sat him down. A second later he slid down the angled back of the tub. I grabbed him immediately but not before the baby went underwater. He swallowed a little water and screamed, “put me in my crib where it’s safe!”

Not a good weekend for baby Boo. Let’s hear it for Monday!