The One in Which there was MOLD in my CAR

Apparently, it is monsoon season here in the South. Seriously. It rained 4 days straight since we returned from our vacay last Tuesday (today is our first dry day). And, I have no idea how long it rained here while we were gone.

Which wouldn’t be a big deal and all if, you know, the top of my back window hadn’t come unsealed from the soft top, creating a nice little opening. And, openings in cars and rain don’t mix AT ALL. We discovered the issue right before we left and weren’t able to get it fixed before we left town. We weren’t expecting non-stop rain, so we thought it would be OK until we got back. Boy, were we wrong.

So, today, when Lucy and I headed out to get our $0.55 pancakes at IHOP, I realized there’s no way in the world we can use my car because it is COVERED IN MOLD. Seriously. Back seat, car seat, console, seat belt, front seat. So.freaking.gross.

We took it to a detail shop today, and they quoted a ridiculous amount – a minimum of around $1,000 – to get it to the point where I could drive Lucy in it again. Thankfully, other places quoted us a much lower (but still makes me want to cry) cost. So, hopefully, we’ll take it in to be cleaned later this week.

Bright side: my car will be spotless. Downside: Oh, so much money.

One day, we’ll look back on this as a funny story. Right??

Thoughts from a Formula Feeding Mom

I formula-fed my baby. And, I’m not ashamed of it. I never wanted to breastfeed and, though I did try it, it didn’t work out well for us. Lucy lost weight, and I didn’t enjoy it or feel like I bonded any more with her than I would have if I bottle fed her. So, I stopped.

And, it was the best thing ever for us. I was happier. I was more rested. And, in turn, she was happier!

Yesterday, a Facebook “friend” posted an anti-formula rant, going so far as calling those who bottle feed their children “selfish”. I try not to let the opinions of those who differ from me bother me, but this really did – perhaps because she really was insulting those who use formula and insinuating that they’re not as good of mothers.

And that, my friends, is wrong on SO many levels. I wasn’t comfortable with breastfeeding. Doe that mean I judge those who are or criticize them for being “gross”? No. Although, I will say I would prefer if moms would use nursing covers when out in public, like at church.

What happened to supporting fellow moms? What happened to every woman being able to make a decision for her and her child without being chastised? There is so much “mommy guilt” out there, and it’s not cool to add to that by telling someone they made the “wrong” choice as to how to feed their baby. And, it’s just as wrong to tell them their selfish or are a bad mom. Formula-feeding doesn’t make you selfish or lazy. Period.

If I’m being honest, this kind of judgmental reaction is one reason why I never really talked much about my failed attempt at breastfeeding. I didn’t want the pressure of people possibly telling me that I just needed to keep going or judging me for giving my child formula. And, it’s sad that, because of society, I have to feel that way.

I don’t think I’m alone, and I hope I’m not. I’m proud of feeding my child formula and, if we are blessed with a second, we will be feeding that one formula as well. It’s what’s best for our family, and it doesn’t make me a bad mom.

The One in Which my Husband Kind of Saved a Kid

So, last weekend, we went to the community pool for my nephew’s birthday party. It’s actually a really cool facility with a pool, splash park, and and inflatable slide and obstacle course in the deep end of the pool.

The three of us were hanging out in the 4-foot water when we heard a boy start screaming, “Help me! Help me!”

He was wearing a life jacket, so he wasn’t in danger of drowning, but something certainly scared him. Maybe he felt like he might go under? Or, he didn’t think he could get back to the side of the pool (we were in the middle of the section)? In any case, he felt like he needed help.

While he was screaming, a lifeguard walked right past him on the walkway between our section of the pool and the kiddie pool. He didn’t even glance over at the boy. Now, I understand he wasn’t drowning (he surely wouldn’t be able to scream if he was), but if you’re a lifeguard and you hear a child screaming for help, I would think you would, you know, HELP said child.

Not this guy. So, Joe swam over, grabbed the boy and helped him over to the side. The lifeguard came over and told the boy, “If you can’t reach the side, maybe you shouldn’t be in this section of the pool.”

I’m pretty sure if that was my kid, I would have let the lifeguard and his supervisor have it. Sure, he was probably correct, but he was really rude AND he couldn’t even be bothered to do his job and help a child who needed it. I’m just glad my hubby decided to step up and do something.

Things that go Barf in the Night!

So. The other night. It was around 2:30 a.m., and I reached down in my sleep to pull our comforter up. And, felt something wet.

My first thought? Did Lucy come in here and throw up??

I know. I know. It made no sense. But, I was half asleep. We tossed the comforter off to deal with it in the morning, and that was that.

Until a little bit later when I rolled over. Into throw up. Yes, THROW UP. As in all over my arm. Apparently, JOE’S cat threw up (as he does pretty regularly) and decided to do so IN OUR BED.

Are you laughing yet? It is pretty funny when, you know, you’re not going through it.

So, we got up and changed the sheets. At 2:30 a.m. I resisted the urge to shower since I had gotten THROW UP all over my arm and just scrubbed it REALLY well in the sink. And then, we were finally back to bed.

The next day, I didn’t see Dizzy at all. Until nap time, that is, when he laid on top of me. Really??

The One in Which I Complain About My Neighbors

So. Neighbors. We’ve been through quite a few in the five years that we’ve lived here. Next door to us, there was the guy who just got out of prison who fled from the cops through the backyard and the partiers who trashed the house when they moved out.

A nice guy lived across the street until about a month ago when he moved to Tennessee. A large family moved in (and when I say large, I mean a minimum of eight people in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house). They rubbed me the wrong way at first when they took over the driveway of the house between us (the new owner is supposedly fixing it up to rent but hasn’t been by in a while) and started leaving their toys in the middle of our driveway and in our yard.

But, I let it go because two of the kids liked to play with Lucy and were really good with her. Until last week.

I came home after covering a meeting and saw Lucy’s toy lawnmower in the yard across the street. I figured the kids had come over and gotten it (from our carport, mind you) to play, so I went over to retrieve it. That’s when I discovered it was broken. The plastic on the front was broken and all the balls were taken out of it.

So, I knocked on the door to let the parents know what had happened and hopefully get the toy replaced. This is how that went down:

Neighbor (who is the kids’ grandmother): What?
Me: Hi. I’m Cady. I live across the street.
Neighbor: Yeah?
Me: Well, I came home to find my daughter’s lawnmower in your yard, and it’s broken.
Neighbor: Oh. I’ll tell the kids not to do that again.
Me: That’s great and all, but we’d like it replaced.
Neighbor: How much was it?
Me: I’m not sure right offhand. It was a gift.
Neighbor: Guess I can’t, then.

At that point, I sighed out of exasperation, and got the lawnmower to take back home.

Neighbor: (Shouting at me) What’s your problem?
Me: My problem is your kids broke my 3-year-old’s toy
Neighbor: That’s what kids do.
Me: No, it’s not. Not when they’re taught right from wrong. My daughter doesn’t break things.
Neighbor and her grown daughter: GO ON! BE A CHILD! GO ON! BE A CHILD!

I am not even joking. Joe went over the next day, but they acted like they weren’t home. So, needless to say, Lucy’s toy has not been replaced and likely will not be. But, we won’t forget this. The couple caddy corner to us (next door to these people) have put “No Trespassing” signs up on the tree separating their properties and in front of their swing set. And, the next time the kids take one of Lucy’s toys, we’ll be calling the cops. I know they’re kids, but we’re not going to put up with the adults condoning trespassing, stealing and damage to property. I don’t want to be “that person”, but after their reaction to this, I’ve had it. What do you think? Are we being too “mean”?

The Thanksgiving Curse

So, Thanksgiving. Yeah. It probably ranks up there with all the other holidays I would love to forget. Which would be every other Thanksgiving when we’re scheduled to go to Joe’s parents’.

You see, we’re cursed when it comes to the Thanksgivings we spend with his family. Every time, we either get sick at his parents’ cabin or we are blessed enough to get sick before we go. Two years ago, Joe and Lucy were sick before the holiday, and I came down with what they had on Thanksgiving, spending the night throwing up with my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law watching. Yeah. It was as much fun as it sounds.

This year, as I’ve already told you in great detail, Lucy came down with the croup on Wednesday. We decided we’d wait to head to the mountains on Friday so she would have had the antibiotic in her system for 48 hours and wouldn’t be contagious. We had a really nice day with just our little family. We took Lucy to our town’s BRAND NEW Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast.

And, we watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (some of us, in a box).

Then Joe and I made lunch while Lucy played outside with the neighborhood kids.

But, then…THEN, I got sick Thanksgiving night. As in, I thought I was going to die sick. I am not even exaggerating. My temperature got up to almost 101 degrees, and fluctuated between that and 99.9 all night. I had chills. My body ached and my skin hurt. My throat hurt. I was miserable.

The next day, I was feeling OK, so Joe and Lucy headed to the cabin while I stayed home. My fever was down to 98.8. I was on the mend. Insert laughter here. I was so naive. That afternoon, my temperature spiked back up to 100.9, so I headed to our local urgent care facility. There was a four hour wait. FOUR HOURS. So, I headed to the next closest one. I was in a room in 20 minutes and, though my flu test came back negative, the doctor said it’s only 70 percent accurate, so gave me a prescription for Tamiflu. I also got an antibiotic because my white cell count was high, indicating an infection.

The next day, well, I didn’t feel like death anymore, so I consider that improvement, and I’ve continually gotten better since. Hooray.

So, that was our Thanksgiving. I wonder what will happen two years from now to keep us from the mountains.