Everyone’s a critic

Yard work’s not a top priority at the Moose household. We don’t let the lawn get so bad that Boo could get lost in it, but we often have the longest grass on the block. It didn’t used to be that way. But as the years have progressed, I find myself thinking, “eh, I’ll cut it tomorrow.”

So today Gina had to come home from work to meet a repairman. The spring on our garage door broke. It wouldn’t open or close.

The repairman greeted Gina by saying, “You must want to get your mower out.”

Yeah yeah, I get the message. I’m mowing the lawn . . . tomorrow.

The cure is worse . . .

After staying healthy for a whole month straight, I have succumbed to yet another of Ryan’s day care diseases. I stayed home with him on Monday, and by that night I was coming down with what I’d soon find was strep throat. Actually, the sore throat part wasn’t so bad. But the two-day fever was, making me so loopy that I landed back at the doctor’s. I was prescribed antibiotics for my throat and steroids for the pain.

My first full day of each made me so wired that I barely slept Wednesday night. When Ryan awoke at 4 a.m. I was right there, feeling great. I was woozy for a few minutes at work the next day, but more steroids had me up Thursday night and feeling like king of the world. I came home Friday and started crossing projects off my list. It occurred to me, though, that it probably wasn’t healthy or natural to be up for two days straight with the desire to sleep replaced by the urge to move some heavy furniture. So I skipped my second steroid dose on Friday in the interests of sleep.

My strategy resulted in a full-blown case of hives. Turns out I’m allergic to the antibiotic, not the steroid. And you know how you treat an outburst of hives that’s caused by an allergic reaction?

With steroids.

Aarghhhhhhh . . .

Father’s Day

Here’s me and Ryan on my second Father’s Day. Gina got me a wallet, a major victory as she’d been campaigning to get rid of my old one. Ryan got me two new belts and eight straight hours of sleep. What a blessing it is to celebrate this day in a whole new way.

Open mouth, insert germs

I was heading home yesterday all fired up to do my P90 routine when Gina called and said that Ryan had a fever at day care. Gina had him at home, and I picked them up and headed to the pediatrician’s. At this point we may as well have a season pass to our doctor’s office. Boo was burning up and so out of it that he napped in the examining room, otherwise known in his unfevered mind as The Room That Makes Me Scream.

Our regular doctor’s partner walked in and gave Ryan a quick once-over. The good news: it’s not strep, and both the baby’s ears are fine. The bad: he’s got a lovely case of hand-foot-mouth disease. Yet another entree from the germ smorgasbord we’ve come to know as day care.

Not that it’s ever a good time for your baby to be sick, but this meant that we had to call my family and bow out of hosting Father’s Day. I didn’t think my sibs with babies would appreciate hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill and a contagious virus to go.

To add to our Friday excitement, we arrived home from the doctor to find that our power was out. A storm had blown in during our appointment and knocked out half the city. Thankfully it was back on by the time we returned from a buggy ride.

The baby was up on and off all night but he’s feeling better today. We’re hoping for a good, long healthy stretch once we’re out of the woods again. He must have been exposed to almost every known disease by now.

The problem with the germ buffet at daycare is for toddlers, it’s All You Can Eat.

Trashed

The garbage men took our trash can that Gina ran over. They must have been tired of our trash bags being wedged inside of it. Now she has her sights set on our recycling bin.

Hello, abs? It’s me, Moose

When it comes to inherited traits, I can thank my dad for my calm demeanor and blame him for my missing abs. All of the Moose boys are plagued with bellies with the consistency of jello, a genetic scourge which has claimed untold pairs of pants and belts, as well as our ability to easily see our feet. As my belly has taken on the same definition as the baby’s, I’ve decided to take action. I am reintroducing myself to the concept of (gulp!) exercise.

This is my fourth week and Gina’s second doing the P90, a series of fitness videos. The idea is that you get a workout in 30 or 40 minutes. But in order to do this, they don’t give you any time to putz around. You move from one exercise to the next in rapid, relentless fashion. This suits me fine, as I want to get the pain over with quick, but clashes with Gina’s legendary technique (at the gym, she was known as The Staller.)

The other idea behind the P90 is that by switching from one muscle group to the next, your muscles won’t have time to plateau so you’ll build them up faster. The P90 marketers call this concept “muscle confusion.” This must be working, because my muscles are positively befuddled. As in, “what are you doing to me?” and “why are we up so early?”

But there’s a line forming in my midsection I’ve never seen before. Out of the shapeless mass that is my belly, a muscle has emerged.

Fractured fairy tales

I was reading to Ryan after work and feeling fuzzy-headed. So after a few stories I stretched out on the living room floor. Ryan, not yet satisfied, picked up his heaviest book. Through blurry eyes I saw two pounds of fairy tales hurtling toward my face, perfectly aimed so that the corner caught me on my mouth. Gina came running when a rare expletive escaped my bloody lips. And there was Boo standing over his victim.

He should pick on someone his own size.

Badge of courage

Someone had a good checkup at the pediatrician’s yesterday. They were cooperative, calm and didn’t cry when it was time for shots.

So I told Gina she could pick out a sticker after the baby was done.

Helping hand

Ryan loves to unpack things, so when I set the groceries on the floor he made a beeline for them. He reached into the first bag and pulled out a box of Ziploc bags. Then he headed to the drawer we keep them in and dropped the box right in.

“He’s a genius!” I told Gina. Ryan went back to the bag. He pulled out another box of Ziplocs and stashed them in the drawer.

“Oh my goodness,” Gina said. We were in the presence of greatness.

Then Ryan emptied the rest of the bag and put everything in the same drawer.

Now I’ll know the first place to look if anything goes missing.