Monday, February 28, 2005
 
Constriction
There must be something about hamster young that makes them particularly appetizing. If they're anything like human children, though, the act of eating one's young must be a powerful, ancient evolutionary instinct for the hamster. Children--in case you didn't know--are totally disgusting.

Which is occasionally hilarious.

And occasionally the bane of my existence.

See, my youngest boy has a horrid, awful, sticky head cold. All mucus (unless you spell it "mucous", then I mean that) and drool and everything in the world like dirt and dog hair and the dog in general sticking to the liberally applied muc(o?)us and drool. Basically he's a foul, filthy, wheezing beast.

When he's sick, he doesn't sleep well. That means long days of pissed-off-edness to ruin my day as designated caregiver because of the a) constant crying and b) snot-covered shirt shoulders.

So when my poor sleep-deprived child fell asleep face-down on the carpet in my living room between the coffee table and the couch at 10 am, my paternal instinct kicked in. I went racing around looking for the camera so I could humiliate him with the picture at the appropriate time later in his life.

No camera. Damn. Ah, let him sleep on the floor. At least he's not crying.

Twenty minutes later, he woke up just to remind me that he is still occasionally asthmatic. Hack, wheeze, cough, choke choke choke. I can't find his older brother anywhere, so I assume he's inhaled him whole. It sounds as though something that size is lodged in his throat.

Break out the stupid nebulizer and give him the stupid breathing treatment with the stupid two-year-old medicine that we never stupid use any stupid more because we (stupidly) thought we were past all stupid this.

Still with the wheeze, hack, cough, choke choke choke.

Hello? Can I get my boy in to see the doctor?

No, sorry, doctor is out. Take him to Urgent Care.

Fuckers. There goes my very important mid-day chips-eating time.

The absolute best thing about kids? When you take them to Urgent Care, they bump you to the head of the 2-hour long line if you... uh... word it just right on the sign-in sheet. "Asthmatic; still wheezing and labored breathing after treatment given. Permanent shade of purple. Last Rites given by priest."

There are some basic constant laws that govern the universe. One has to do with gravity and physics and math or some shit. The other says that by the time you are seen at Urgent Care, all your symptoms will magically vanish. So the Urgent Care doctor glares at me and tells me to waste his regular doctor's time next time we have a phantom crisis.

Fucker. I could have been home eating chips. The good kind too with the salt and vinegar.

Run home, pick up oldest boy from school, homework, then to First Ever T-Ball Practice. Fucking kids and their fucking stuff. If it isn't muc-o-us, it's the t-ball. One of these days I'm going to get asthma and join an organized sports league, you watch. Then they'll all be sorry.

What I'm trying to say is, look, I'm sorry I didn't post a new blog post at the regular time. Sometimes shit just happens. It doesn't mean I love you any less. It's just that child-neglect isn't that hard to prove in this day and age. I gotta keep an eye on the long term. You understand, don't you?

I knew you would.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.9


Pops

Comments:
At least at your trial we wouldn't have to have actors recreating the day's events from actual court transcrpts, the way E! is doing at the Jackson trial. Oh wait - you said neglect, not abuse, didn't you?
 
Some people remember the Salad Days. We will always remember the Mucus Days or yore.
 
The Mucus Days of yore. of.
 
I can't even watch a surgery on TV without getting squimish. I think having to deal with muc-o-us kids would send me over the edge.

You are a brave, brave man pops.
 
Larry: Are you suggesting the general public finds me less morbidly fascinating than Michael Jackson?

Yes, then I'd agree with you there.

SJ: There's a horribly inappropriate joke in there about "tossed salad" that I am going to forego in the name of basic human decency.

Robert: Yeah, muc/o/us is gross, but surgery on TV is still grosser. I'd rather wipe my son's nose than see his liver.
 
It's funny how sick kids always manage to find odd places to sleep in. LOL
 
Vomit and copious amount of mucus all in a little over one week. Wow, Pops. How do you do it? I am so envious....
 
Yoli: Yeah, one time when I was sick as a kid I fell asleep in Michigan. Weird.

Jess: Now you see why the Bucket is necessary (in both literal and blog form).
 
Ew, Spawn Secretions...
 
There is nothing better than calling a child a fucker. I call my meth kids fuckers all the time. I laugh and laugh as I do it too.
 
T-ball? At this time of year? You spoiled California brat.
 
Steph: There's always something falling out of the nasty little creatures. That's why I keep them in a pen out back. Can't risk the carpet now, can I?

MPH: For the record, I called a doctor's office receptionist and a Urgent Care doctor Fuckers. My kids I usually call "smelly useless bastards". Tough love, man.

Bill: You have no idea. But God gets his revenge once every 20 years or so when the earth moves and we all fall down.
 
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