The End of the Sickness Road

I honestly do not know what is worse when it comes to illness - when you are in the weeds marginally demented by lack of coherent thought or towards the end when you a few rungs from the top of the health ladder. Sure it sucks to be sick, but it is made better by the joys of Nyquil, Dayquil and your confused somewhat delirious being. Did I just say and not think you are a fucking asshole mutherfucker? Sorry, I'm sick. Whoopsie. Being almost healthy is a horrid state, easily tired; prone to coughing fits and whenever a nose is blown a mini Jackson Pollack remains in the wrinkled Kleenex. Not to brag, but if I was running a supply store for witches, let us just say the ingredient of mucusey snot would be well stocked. Perhaps it is the scientist in me, or my love of all things gruesome, but I am almost to the point of collecting it to gauge how much freaking yellow discharge my nose is producing. We are talking Guinness Records, people. I guess I should be happy that this latest duel of baby germs is almost completed. However, tomorrow Owen is in back-up child care which is often a petri dish of pediatric phlegm producing possibilities. (Good god, I love alliteration). So stay tuned. In other news, the other night I threw away the last half of my madras (vodka, OJ and cranberry), which was significant as it was then the realization that the illness had handily defeated me hit. One Cassandra Michele Catherine McCall does not throw away booze; she sucks it up, downs the remainder and continues onward. I think any unfinished adult beverage is akin to a leaving a child on a doorstep. In other words, a tragedy. This in certain realms would be considered "a problem." But whatever, there are few things in this life I view as sacred, and the drink is one of them. So to you half filled pint glass of vodka, I am sorry. I wish I could have loved you better, but alas, I could not. For this, I apologize.

From the Funny Farm

Last night I stumbled upon this little gem. You can thank me in the comments section.

Confessions of the Sick Mind

My brain in encased in a fleshy sinus induced cloudlike shell. Behind my eyes are the stabbing pains of a dull knife. My nose is faucet of clear snot on one side, and cakey green snot on the other. They battle, switching sides every 15 minutes. My throat is scratchy and pained. Obviously, I am still sick. Last night after Robitussining, I sat upright in bed coughing unable to sleep. When I finally did fall asleep I had a dream in which I had another baby, a son. I could not figure out a name for him but was debating between Thomas and Christopher. Also, somebody at the dinner party my in-laws were having tried to kidnap him and Owen. I knew this because I found their sippy cups in the front of their car. My mother-in-law served a salad that contained yellow peppers. I said "Are these yellow peppers?" And she said yes, I and looked a John and said "Did they just forget I was allergic?" "I mean I only passed out in Kauai." As my throat closed and dizziness ensued, I tried to breast feed my new baby only to repeatedly dose him with a spraying boob. Needless to say, the weary, sick and heavily medicated mind does make for nighttime drama. Also, I don't like those names for a baby boy at all. Tommy McCall sounds like some drunk at the end of a bar who just got out of jail. And I am pretty sure in my dream I said Chris McCall - oh goody, just like Chris March from Project Runway. Lord help me.

Parenting Ideas 101

I do not think it is evil of me to be considering that I think I want to place my son in a hermetically sealed bubble. He has been sick for a week, and thankfully, on the mend. His fever lasted five days and now John and I are suffering from this evil and vile disease. What is it about baby germs? I can't figure it out. It is like a normal virus enters a baby and suddenly it becomes this machine of madness that will infiltrate the best of immune systems with the precision of a ninja. I do not want to brag or anything, but prior to having a kid, I did not really get sick. I was healthy - although in hindsight, I think perhaps this was more to do with the fact that my blood alcohol level never really got below .08. Instantly pickled! However, I can't take the illness, I can't take Owen being sick, and I can't take John being sick. Welcome to the McCall House of Disease 2008. Enter at your own risk. So, this weekend, I am buying some Ziploc bags and configuring a bubble for the boy. It has to be done.

The Hawaiian Adventure

Well I have officially returned to Hawaii. It is official because Owen has a 101 degree fever. It seems the young child is incapable of plane travel without succumbing to the airborne attack of various viruses. Which is entirely understandable given the developing immune system, but still a pain of the ass when you realize you might have to call in sick from a job that you have been absent from for over a week. But luckily for me, and not so much for him, John was able to work from home - which translates to suffer immensely at home while balancing job and sick child. And that would be the post-vacation you are back to working hell homecoming. Yeah! Also yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, and I would like to state that I began my beer at 6:30 p.m. to finish it at 8:20 p.m. During that time I (a) drank first sip, (b) bathed Owen, (c) read to Owen, (d) put Owen to sleep, (e) started dinner, (f) cleaned the kitchen, (g) finished dinner and (h) had last sip. Which is quite the departure from my usual St. Patty's routine of (a) drink a shot, (b) drink a beer and (c) repeat until pass out and drooling. So, back to Hawaii, it was in a word fanfreakingfabulatastic. We swam, we snorkeled, we sunned. It was a most relaxing vacation to have experienced and a true horror to have left. But even the best of times when you are me (and cursed) have their downs. A few weeks before our vacation, the San Francisco Chronicle did an article on the Poipu area of Kauii, the exact location where we were staying. They listed many things to do and see, and in particular, told of a must eat experience, that of the Shrimp Truck. It was said the coconut and garlic shrimp were out of the world, and had to be tasted. So basically John and I salivated for 3 weeks, dying to eat the shrimp. The first full day, we went to the truck, ordered accordingly and headed home to eat. As I devoured my coconut shrimp and he his garlic, we were happy - happy in the sun, happy with our food, and happy that the boy was about to nap translating to an escape to the beach for boogie boarding. John, his Dad and I all headed to the beach and had much fun in the sun. The waves were great, the water refreshing, the boarding a blast. Reluctantly, we headed home walking the path to our condo. It was then I began to feel a tad off. Pretty dizzy, but I sucked it up and continued to walk. We got to the water spout to wash our feet, and it is here all went bad. I remember saying "I don't feel so good, I think I am going to faint." And well, that is exactly what I did - out cold, three times it happened. I remember waking up and having no clue where I was just John and his father standing over me. It is this point that John's Dad runs back to get some water as he is of the belief I am dehydrated. I drink and nothing is getting better, the illness coming in waves. I can't focus, pass out a few times, and sometimes slur my speech. An ambulance is called, and I am rushed to the hospital as my blood pressure is all over the place and my heart is racing and slowing down. I get the hospital, where they undress me and take notice of about 1,000 hives on my body. Seems my lead ambulance guy was color blind and could not see them. Now, I would think that as an EMT, you might want to be able to see the hives that could possibly indicate a severe allergic reaction. Just saying. It is determined at the hospital, I am suffering from anaphylaxis. Also known as an allergic reaction to something I ate. That something, the highly touted (and highly delicious) coconut shrimp. I think if I could punch that Chronicle writer, I would. Because honestly, do you think I would have eaten there if not for that article? After an IV of benedryl, a coma like sleep, a test of my blood pressure, 6 hours later I am released with the strict instructions never to consume shrimp, yellow pepper or mango - all three of which could have been the ingredient responsible. Although I truly do not believe it was the shrimp, am I going to risk it? Well maybe for Burma Superstar's salt and pepper shrimp - good god that stuff is yummy. But nope, I can't. I am officially shrimp free, which is okay since I often them of them as the cockroach of the sea. I guess the only thing of this entire experience I am grateful for is the fact that John's father now truly believes I am allergic to yellow peppers. Something, I am pretty sure he thought I was making up. Oh, and the fact that it was an allergic reaction, and not dehydration, which I think would have been brought up for years after the fact. Go me and my hyper sensitive immune system! Wooooo.

Doh! and Owen

I am a stupidhead. It is true; do not try to argue with me. I do some really stupid things at times. Like the time I put a FedEx label holder on my head as a hat wherein the sticky part rolled back and attached to my hair so I had to run to the bathroom with a FedEx label on my head. Yeah. Or the time when I was about 10 years old and told the deli guy I wanted eight Make Believe Hot Dogs. Make Believe Hot Dogs!! Ah, how about Maple Leaf Hot Dogs? There is nothing better than being 10 and being laugh at by the throngs of deli folk waiting for their number to be called. My latest bonehead, well two weeks ago I ordered a bathing suit from Victoria's Secret, as well some underwear. I tried on my bathing suit, and surprisingly did not want to kill myself. So I put all the bathing suit back in the package. Flash forward to last evening when I am looking for my new bathing suit, when it hit me. Last Thursday a/k/a Trash Night, I took said Victoria's Secret package thinking it was trash and threw it away. Yep, I threw away my brand new bathing suit, and 3 pairs of underwear (one of which was striped orange - which happens to be my favorite color). I might as well taken a 100 dollar bill and set it on fire. And although stuff like this happens, it is hard not to berate yourself as being an idiot. Really hard. So now I have to get a new bathing suit at lunch. Sully, I hate you!!!!! Anyway, some photos of Owen - which always makes me happy.

The Evil Beneath
















The Blank Stare (a/k/a farting or pooping)















The Holy Crap The Kid Looks Five