Pardon my language, but we had a sh*tty weekend. There. I said it. I got it out of my system (ha!) I know, I know, you're completely lost at this little burst of sarcastic humor. Sometimes a little laughter is the best way to deal with what life throws you, or at least what it leaves in the car seat.
Our little family traveled to southern Indiana over the weekend for my husband's extended family's annual reunion. My father-in-law is one of 13 siblings, so the gathering can be quite large, as you might guess. Charlotte is number 30ish of the great-grandchildren of the family. My husband's grandmother has not been doing well lately and is in nursing-type care in a local hospital, and my in-laws had driven up early in the week to help out with her. They were staying in the grandmother's house, a little 2-bedroom affair (not the one they raised 13 kids in). We were happy for the free lodging and to have the extra space for Charlotte to run around. We didn't count how grateful we would be later to have access to a washer and dryer.
Saturday morning the big family picnic was scheduled to start at noon, and the 3 of us had driven to Walmart and a grocery store to pick up a cooler, drinks, and other necessities. Charlotte had been in a pretty good mood all morning, which was nice. We were a couple of blocks from the park stuck in a long line of traffic approaching a stop sign, when Charlotte started saying "Potty!" I thanked her for letting us know, but told her that we couldn't stop quite yet, and it was ok to go ahead in her diaper. She whimpered a bit, and drew in her knees, and the next thing I know she was holding her hand out, covered in poop. She had a blowout of massive proportions. We were still in the car in the line of traffic at this point, so I frantically dug out a baby wipe to clean up her hand, and my husband rolled down the windows and called his parents to get the key to the house. Boy what a mess that was. Even if she hadn't been sitting on her butt (thereby elminating all the extra storage room), she would have blown that one out.
We went back to the house and quicky and carefully as we could ran her to the bathroom, stripped her off, and hosed her down in the shower. Her shorts were full , and I found myself rinsing them in the toilet like my mom used to do with cloth diapers to get them "clean" enough for the washing machine. I scrubbed the baby, and my husband followed along behind and scrubbed the tub and the bathroom sink. We got her into an extra outfit, and her soiled clothes and all of the bathroom rugs plus a towel or two went into the washing machine. Yikes what a mess. The carseat seemed to have been mostly spared (it was trapped in the shorts), though it's still due for a cover washing just in case. We made it back to the reunion and through most of the afternoon with a couple more soiled diapers, but no more major blowouts. However, after a hard day's playing and several face plants in the dirt, Charlotte's extra outfit was a mess also. Thank goodness for the washing machine--my sister-in-law volunteered to stop by Walmart and pick her up an extra outfit, but luckily it was not necessary.
By Sunday, we thought we had the issue resolved, as she seemed back to normal. After a big lunch with the family, we loaded up in the car and headed towards home. We didn't even reach the highway before Charlotte did it again. Once again, she had a hand covered in poop and a diaper overflowing. Yuck. This time my in-laws were ahead of us and we couldn't get back into the house, so the McDonalds' bathroom had to suffice. Luckily there was not quite as much, um, material, that escaped, just that it leaked out one of her legs because she was sitting on the diaper in the car. She ended up out of her church dress and back into her (now clean) original outfit from the day before, and hosed/wiped down fairly well in the bathroom sink (sorry McD's! Btw, that's why you *never* trust a public restroom....). She slept the whole way home after that.
We haven't had that many diaper blowouts in, oh, probably a year or so. Well, I guess daycare has had to deal with one or two when she's been coming down with something, but still. So, we had fun visiting with family. But it still made for a yucky weekend.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Friday, August 04, 2006
Riding in Cars with Boys
My car is still not repaired. I dropped it off 3 weeks ago for hail damage repair, and last I heard it will be the middle of next week before I get it back. Apparently they had to replace my hood, the whole roof of my car, and the top of the trunk, as well as repair major damage to the whole driver side. The repair total was (last I know) around $8k. Yikes. I am grateful for insurance. Then again, if my car weren't as new as it is (a low-mileage 2003), and I didn't carry the comprehensive insurance, I would have just driven it with dents. The damage was basically cosmetic as far as I know--I had no broken windows or doors that didn't function or anything.
My husband and I have been doing ok with the whole carpooling mess. The biggest snag was that his windshield got hit by a rock last week while driving through a construction zone. He's got a 2.5 foot crack running across the glass. We are going to a family reunion this weekend (a 4 hour drive), and were originally hoping to take my car so he could drop his off to have the windshield and hail damage repaired. Instead, one of those autoglass places is coming to his parking lot at work to fix it, and we'll have to wait on the hail damage for later.
I guess on the up side, since the trunk lid is being replaced on my car, then the scratches that I had accidentally put in it with the garage door (parked a little too far back one day) and my bike rack will not be there anymore. Also we're saving a lot of $ in gas. At $3 a gallon, it's nice to not have to fill up my car for a month. We're putting a few more miles on his car, but certainly less than we would have with both cars. And, for once, we've had room in the garage to store our stroller collection to get it out of our living room--the jogging stroller especially is kind of a large beast and doesn't fold down small enough for a closet.
I still miss my car.
My husband and I have been doing ok with the whole carpooling mess. The biggest snag was that his windshield got hit by a rock last week while driving through a construction zone. He's got a 2.5 foot crack running across the glass. We are going to a family reunion this weekend (a 4 hour drive), and were originally hoping to take my car so he could drop his off to have the windshield and hail damage repaired. Instead, one of those autoglass places is coming to his parking lot at work to fix it, and we'll have to wait on the hail damage for later.
I guess on the up side, since the trunk lid is being replaced on my car, then the scratches that I had accidentally put in it with the garage door (parked a little too far back one day) and my bike rack will not be there anymore. Also we're saving a lot of $ in gas. At $3 a gallon, it's nice to not have to fill up my car for a month. We're putting a few more miles on his car, but certainly less than we would have with both cars. And, for once, we've had room in the garage to store our stroller collection to get it out of our living room--the jogging stroller especially is kind of a large beast and doesn't fold down small enough for a closet.
I still miss my car.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Help in the kitchen
My husband and I got in a bit of an argument last night. In fact, I believe we've had pretty much the same argument before, multiple times. You'd think by now we'd have learned, but, apparently not.
It started like this: We got home from work with Charlotte about a quarter to 6 and started her with a snack. My husband opened a catalog he'd gotten in the mail and started browsing. I remembered some pork tenderloin that I'd bought the day before and not frozen, so I started looking up cooking times to see if it was a dinner candidate or not. I found good directions on roasting the pork in under 30 minutes, so I declared that I would make dinner. M. barely glanced at me.
I unwrapped the meat and began searching out pans and side dishes, and Charlotte finished her snack. She quickly demanded more, to which we replied that she would have to wait for dinner. She began to scream, as she is wont to do when she doesn't get her way. I suggested to M. that he take Charlotte out of the kitchen and entertain her. I salted and peppered the 2 tenderloin pieces, heated oil, and began searing. Charlotte fussed in her chair until eventually M got her out and tried to take her in the living room (Our kitchen, breakfast room, and living room are all open to each other), where she continued to scream and loudly protest about the various foods that she wanted to be eating (another banana, chocolate, the icee flavoring bottle she spotted in the fridge, etc). I tried to ignore them while I chopped potatoes for a quick high-heat roast.
At some point, the clean dish towel that I'd gotten out to use disappeared. By this time it was not actually clean, since I'd been drying my hands on it between washings (raw pork hands). This threw me off and I searched all over the kitchen, trying to figure out what I could have done with it. Finally my husband admitted that he'd taken it to the downstairs bar because it matches the decor down there. By this point, Charlotte was still alternating screaming and whining for both food and Elmo, and M still had failed to remove her from the site of all of the food and/or tv that she was begging for, and I was starting to get a headache. I don't believe I was very nice about the towel.
Next, my husband decided to entertain Charlotte by bringing her into the kitchen, sitting her on the counter by the sink, and giving her a whisk and bowl of water so she could "help". In the mean time, he kept trying to "help" me by moving things--never mind that I had no idea that he was going to do it and he would either move something that I was using, or end up standing between me and wherever I was going. I don't take well to distractions. Finally I yelled at him to get out of the kitchen, with the baby, and let me finish cooking dinner ALONE. He yelled back, and then stormed to the basement with Charlotte, where she ended up quieter and somewhat more amused (apparently she was still begging for TV, but at least she wasn't screeching anymore).
I admit, and did apologize, that I was not very nice during the whole situation. M. was trying to help a couple of times when he was moving things that I was using. He was also trying to entertain Charlotte, which I know is a huge challenge when she's in one of her terrible two's moments. I realize that I really work better alone in the kitchen, or if someone's going to help, they have to wait for specific instructions from me first. I get myself into a rhythmn and when people "help" without asking first, it usually breaks my rhythmn and makes it hard for me to keep track of what I was doing. I also keep trying to enforce a "no babies in the kitchen while I'm cooking" rule, for safety and sanity (and sanitary I suppose) reasons--I don't want little hands getting burned or cut or pulling out pots and pans under my feet. Unfortunately, my husband likes to entertain Charlotte by bringing her to watch "what Mommy's doing", which ends up annoying the snot out of me (nothing like having an audience *and* distractions *and* safety concerns all at once). He does have a point that there's no reason she shouldn't get to see what I'm doing and feel like she's a part of the experience, but some days I just don't deal well with it.
*sigh* Tonight, I think we're having pizza.
It started like this: We got home from work with Charlotte about a quarter to 6 and started her with a snack. My husband opened a catalog he'd gotten in the mail and started browsing. I remembered some pork tenderloin that I'd bought the day before and not frozen, so I started looking up cooking times to see if it was a dinner candidate or not. I found good directions on roasting the pork in under 30 minutes, so I declared that I would make dinner. M. barely glanced at me.
I unwrapped the meat and began searching out pans and side dishes, and Charlotte finished her snack. She quickly demanded more, to which we replied that she would have to wait for dinner. She began to scream, as she is wont to do when she doesn't get her way. I suggested to M. that he take Charlotte out of the kitchen and entertain her. I salted and peppered the 2 tenderloin pieces, heated oil, and began searing. Charlotte fussed in her chair until eventually M got her out and tried to take her in the living room (Our kitchen, breakfast room, and living room are all open to each other), where she continued to scream and loudly protest about the various foods that she wanted to be eating (another banana, chocolate, the icee flavoring bottle she spotted in the fridge, etc). I tried to ignore them while I chopped potatoes for a quick high-heat roast.
At some point, the clean dish towel that I'd gotten out to use disappeared. By this time it was not actually clean, since I'd been drying my hands on it between washings (raw pork hands). This threw me off and I searched all over the kitchen, trying to figure out what I could have done with it. Finally my husband admitted that he'd taken it to the downstairs bar because it matches the decor down there. By this point, Charlotte was still alternating screaming and whining for both food and Elmo, and M still had failed to remove her from the site of all of the food and/or tv that she was begging for, and I was starting to get a headache. I don't believe I was very nice about the towel.
Next, my husband decided to entertain Charlotte by bringing her into the kitchen, sitting her on the counter by the sink, and giving her a whisk and bowl of water so she could "help". In the mean time, he kept trying to "help" me by moving things--never mind that I had no idea that he was going to do it and he would either move something that I was using, or end up standing between me and wherever I was going. I don't take well to distractions. Finally I yelled at him to get out of the kitchen, with the baby, and let me finish cooking dinner ALONE. He yelled back, and then stormed to the basement with Charlotte, where she ended up quieter and somewhat more amused (apparently she was still begging for TV, but at least she wasn't screeching anymore).
I admit, and did apologize, that I was not very nice during the whole situation. M. was trying to help a couple of times when he was moving things that I was using. He was also trying to entertain Charlotte, which I know is a huge challenge when she's in one of her terrible two's moments. I realize that I really work better alone in the kitchen, or if someone's going to help, they have to wait for specific instructions from me first. I get myself into a rhythmn and when people "help" without asking first, it usually breaks my rhythmn and makes it hard for me to keep track of what I was doing. I also keep trying to enforce a "no babies in the kitchen while I'm cooking" rule, for safety and sanity (and sanitary I suppose) reasons--I don't want little hands getting burned or cut or pulling out pots and pans under my feet. Unfortunately, my husband likes to entertain Charlotte by bringing her to watch "what Mommy's doing", which ends up annoying the snot out of me (nothing like having an audience *and* distractions *and* safety concerns all at once). He does have a point that there's no reason she shouldn't get to see what I'm doing and feel like she's a part of the experience, but some days I just don't deal well with it.
*sigh* Tonight, I think we're having pizza.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)