As reported yesterday, we're under a Severe Snot Watch here in southeastern Michigan. Evan has gotten worse, and although I'm not terribly worried, I am pretty disgusted. Take a look:
Here is what Evan usually looks like (adorable, huh?):
The storm front rolled in yesterday bringing a decent amount of green goop:
Today the worst of it made landfall, depositing approximately a foot of mucus in Evan's head. We're thinking of applying for federal disaster area status:
Joe had to practically peel Evan off his sheets this morning when he got him out of bed. He said the level of greenies reminded him of the sludge left behind when you kill someone in Halo. I'm glad I'm not geeky enough to truly appreciate that similie.
If Snot Watch wasn't bad enough our oldest son, Cameron, developed a horrible stomach ache last night. He was in so much pain that I actually called the pediatrician after hours. That's big. I haven't called the pediatrician in the night for YEARS, usually because our kids are faking and when I suggest calling (or even worse, taking them to the ER) they wuss out and suddenly (miraculously!) feel much better. I love that they're still intimidated by authority figures. Of course, Joe and I don't appear to be in that category anymore.
So when Cam didn't protest about calling the doctor I figured we might have an actual situation. No, not that kind of situation (although that situation is awesome!). And who was on call last night? The only grumpy gus doctor in the practice. I almost guilted Joe into talking to him, but finally put on my big girl pants and faced the music. Surprisingly, was incredibly nice and was very thorough with his questions. Diagnosis: unless the pain moves to the right lower quadrant and suggests appendicitis, it's probably a "digestive" situation that would, uh, work itself out on its own.
He was right, but not in the way I imagined. Not ten minutes after I hung up Cameron started puking like a geyser and immediately felt better. Now tell me - why couldn't he have puked BEFORE I called the doctor and made him think I was one of those parents who freak anytime their kid clears his throat? Ugh. I think it's the Murphy's Law of pediatrics.
We were pretty sure he was done puking by this morning, but just in case we let him stay home. Because everyone remembers the kid who pukes at school. (In fourth grade a boy in my class threw up and he had obviously had Fruit Loops that morning. The sight - and smell - is still incredibly vivid in my mind.)
So because I'm home with Pukey and Snotty, I can't be at the Valentine parties for the other two, who actually made it to school (after chasing the bus down the street that is). Funny enough, they didn't seem particularly upset when I told them I wouldn't be there to see them open up Valentines from their classmates. Perhaps that has to do with my inability to keep myself from dancing around and chanting "She loves you! She wants to maaaarrry you!" anytime a girl shows the slightest bit of interest, even via a cheap Valentine she was forced by the teacher to give to all of her classmates.
I tease because I care.
And now I must sign off because Booger Baby is awake from his nap and I am called on to extract him from his crusty crib. Note to self: wash his sheets today.