Another Sick Bastard!

Just when we thought we were out, they pulled us back in! After a week of screaming, crying, and rashes, Garrett was finally on the mend and well enough to go back to daycare – and we could all go on with our lives. Four hours after Garrett was considered “not a threat” and back in the Toddler Room, GWE received a call from Justin’s school. He had been complaining about not feeling well. He was agitated, cranky, miserable, and he registered a fever of 102. Crap!!

GWE raced over to get Justin and bring him home while I worked feverishly in my office, knowing that I would have to get twice the amount of work done in one day because I would be taking care of him at home the following day. GWE spent the rest of her day selflessly tending to Justin’s every need. I walked into the house around 8:30pm and he was already seeking solace in “The Shayna Bed” (our pull out sofa) in front of the television. There were piles and piles of blankets and pillows on top of him. Had it not been for an exposed limp arm, I would have missed him completely.

After 24 hours of staying home from school, watching television, eating tomato soup with grilled cheese, playing on daddy’s computer, opening his first email account and emailing his drawings to relatives, playing on daddy’s iPad, playing on daddy’s Xbox 360, hanging out in the Man Cave (with daddy), and napping, he started to feel much better.

As a parent, you want to do a “post mortem” to find out what happened and how a child got sick. Our first assumption was that he picked it up from Garrett, but that didn’t sound right. Garrett’s virus wasn’t supposed to affect children older than two. So where did he get it from? Justin’s teacher called GWE the first night (and emailed on the second) to check in on Justin to see how he was doing. She informed GWE that two other children were out sick as well! Ah ha!!! More clues!!!

GWE quickly pieced it together. All three sick children attended a birthday party at a bowling alley on Saturday. And, two of the children were on the same bowling team….AND they were sharing bowling balls.

That just goes to prove – Don’t play with dirty balls! You’ll get sick!!

You Are One Sick Bastard

As men, we are notoriously childish when we become sick. I will admit that I am not immune to this behavior. The last time I got the flu – I buried myself in bed, imagined that I was dying, and repeatedly asked GWE for some soup…..and the decency to wait a respectful amount of time before marrying someone else after I was gone.

Last week, it was Garrett’s turn. Out of nowhere, he spiked a fever on Thursday evening. He was miserable for the next 24 hours. We thought it was a cold or maybe “extreme” teething. Whatever it was, he was not himself. He cried and cried and cried and cried. Like any good dad, on Friday morning I kissed my wife on the cheek and ran out of the house as fast as possible – leaving GWE to tend to our ailing son. It was her problem now!

Over the next few days, his fever came and went. After it finally subsided, Garrett broke out in a rash of red welts. The rash was most noticeable on his face, chest, arms, legs, and butt. After consulting a pediatrician, Web MD, and a “Your Baby’s First Year” book, we realized he had Roseola.

Roseola is a viral disease caused by human herpesvirus 6 and it affects children under two. The symptoms are puffy eyes, sore throat, runny nose, irritability, etc. And, there is no known treatment. It just goes away on its own.

This morning on my way into work, Garrett Morris called me to discuss some updates on projects we were working on. (If you don’t know yet, my son was named after Garrett Morris.) Garrett casually asked how the family was and I proceeded to explain that “Little Garrett” was home sick with Roseola. Garrett paused and asked, “Is that a new name for something I’d recognize?”

“Yes. It’s like Baby Measles.” I replied. And then I gave Garrett more information than he asked for. “Actually, it’s caused by Herpes. He probably got it from one of his friends at daycare.”

At that moment, Garrett Morris erupted into laughter. When he finally composed himself, he said, “You tell those little bitches in daycare to stay away from Little Garrett!!!”

He’s Feeling Much Better Now

(Not so) Silent, but Deadly

Gas leak located!

Justin walked past me and blasted a long and loud fart. It was the type of fart that started on a Monday and ended on a Wednesday! He acted as if nothing had happened.

“Justin!! Did you just fart on me??” I asked.

“Yes, daddy!” he proudly proclaimed.

“Justin! That was gross. Please don’t do that again!” I begged.

Here was his explanation – “I can’t help it daddy. The tacos in my stomach are laughing.”

Justin vs The Think n’ Stink

Those of you who’ve been following GenXDaddy know that Justin has cost me thousands of dollars in repairs to the sewage pipes under my house, including the pipes directly under my driveway (which had to be jack hammered and then repaved) and the pipes leading all the way back to the main sewer line at the street. Pipes that have stood the test of time for over 50 years have been pushed past their limits by the “imp” living in my house who thinks it’s funny to flush strange objects down the toilet. We have been incident free for several months and I assumed we had a few more years before Garrett’s potty training put our pipes to the test once again.

Even though Justin is fully potty trained, he refuses to wipe his own butt. To this day, he still calls for me to “take care of his business” and then requests that I use a Wet Wipe to make sure he is clean. (Yes, I take requests.) GWE and I have been encouraging him to wipe his own butt, but he has not yet taken the initiative.

On Saturday afternoon, while I was feeding Garrett, Justin announced that he needed his butt wiped….again. I thought it was a great opportunity for me to NOT be available. I told him that I was feeding the baby and he would have to do it himself. Then, there was silence.

All I heard was a flush and an “uh-oh.” Then, I saw Justin sheepishly walking down the hall. I stopped him and asked, “Why did you say ‘uh-oh’?” He replied that he thought he used too much toilet paper, but it was ok now because it all went down the potty. I went over to the toilet and looked into the bowl suspiciously. I saw nothing and slowly backed away. For the rest of the day, we were incident free.

At 1:00am, I turned off the television so I could go to bed. Bleary-eyed, I headed to the bathroom for one final chance to “put one through the hoop.” When I was done, I flushed and heard the toilet respond in a long and low“GUUUULLLLLP.” I opened one eye and looked into the bowl. What I saw was the potty equivalent of when prospectors strike oil. Brown water began to surge to the surface. In a moment of either brilliant ingenuity or complete stupidity, I grabbed a nearby vase and with both hands I plunged it deeply into the murky waters. I began pulling quart after quart of “turd juice” out of the toilet and disposed of it in the sink in the hopes of not having the toilet overflow onto the floor. After a few moments, the tidal wave passed and the toilet was calm once again.

Afterwards, I sprinted to the kitchen sink and began to scrub everything from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my elbows in scalding hot water and anti-bacterial soap. I must have been there for 10 minutes, but I could not get them clean enough. (“Out, damn’d spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky.” – Macbeth)

The following day was Mother’s Day. When my wife awoke, I leaned over to her and romantically whispered into her ear, “Happy Mother’s Day. Whatever you do, don’t flush the toilet.” She stared at me for a moment and then rolled over to go back to sleep.

After a few hours (and some cautious use of potty #2), the plumber arrived and was greeted by GWE. He went to the back of the house to snake the drain closest to the bathroom. After a few moments of assessing the problem, he decided that the best plan of attack was to snake the toilet itself. GWE guided him to the bathroom. As he passed by, I hung my head in shame knowing the horror he was about to witness.

Justin was excited to have the workman in the house. It meant that he had someone to supervise. Once the plumber observed the scene, he did the only decent thing he could do in that situation – he closed the door to prevent Justin from seeing the mess he was about to clear out. Not to be deterred, Justin laid on the ground and tried to get a glimpse of the action from the crack between the door and the floor. Hopefully, he saw nothing.

After twenty minutes, the plumber announced he was done and he quickly left. (I can only assume he raced to the closest de-contamination center to cleanse himself.) The toilet was fixed, Justin was excited to re-christen the working bowl, and GWE’s Mother’s Day present this year became the gift of a swift flush.

 

What The Hell Are You Wearing?

In my line of work, it’s not uncommon to hear “Who are you wearing?” Hollywood and the fashion industry tend to go hand-in-hand. However, the question not often asked is “What the hell are you wearing?” and the possible follow-up, “What’s that smell?” After this morning, no amount of showering or detergent will be able to wash away the multitude of “specimens” I found myself wearing.

At 6am, Garrett woke up. I rushed into the kitchen and made him an 8 ounce bottle of formula. As per our usual routine, I went to his room with the bottle, got him out of the crib, changed him, and then fed him. After about 6 ounces, Garrett decided to stop eating and he waived off the bottle. I thought it was weird because The Priluck Boys are bottomless pits. Garrett turned towards me, smiled, and then blasted me with all 6 ounces of hot, milk spit-up. It covered his pajamas, my shirt, my pants, and the chair. I placed him on his changing table and proceeded to change him a second time.

While he was naked on the changing table, I decided to “eat his chicken wings.” (This is something I started with Justin. Basically, you lift the child’s arm, stick your face into their armpit, and then chow down as they laugh.) As I buried my face into his armpit, I quickly realized that his teething slobber had made its way out of his mouth, down his chin, across his chest, and into his armpit. My face was now covered in his “slime.” After my aborted tickling opportunity, Garrett half rolled over towards me and then sprayed me with pee-pee. I think it was his way of saying, “Hey, asshole! Don’t forget my diaper.” I quickly diapered him and then changed my clothes.

Thirty minutes later, Justin joined us in the kitchen and announced that he wanted waffles for breakfast. I prepared his breakfast as required. However, as I was putting away the syrup, it slipped out of my hand and hit the ground. Normally, I would think “no big deal” because it’s in a plastic container. Somehow I dropped it at just the right angle and as it hit the ground, it exploded. There was syrup everywhere – the sink, the counter, down the sides of the cabinets, the floor, and finally – all over me! I cleaned it the best I could, but now we have a sticky kitchen floor. (To GWE – Hi, honey. Can you pick up some syrup on the way home? We’re out.)

They say that women who live together long enough end up having their cycles sync. I suspect that we have a version of that in our house as well. When one child is eating, the other becomes hungry. Garrett decided that he was hungry again after watching Justin maul his waffles. (And, who wouldn’t be hungry after spitting up?) I made him a breakfast of bananas mixed with rice cereal. After three bites, he stopped and made a strange face. He then proceeded to sneeze a mixture of bananas and boogers on me. We shall call this “Banoogers.” Gross.

I finished feeding Garrett and moved on to feed our fish. As I opened the lid to drop in the flakes, “Fred the Undead” decided to angrily splash tank water on me. My seven year old, 99 cent, one-eyed, no finned, no longer gold, goldfish managed to “flap” his poop water at me in an effort to tell me that it was time to clean the tank.

As I walked back into the bedroom to FINALLY take a shower, I ended up stepping on a half-sucked throat lozenge courtesy of Justin. I have no idea why he thought it was a good idea to just spit it out onto the floor. I didn’t mind at this point. I was already sticky from the syrup.

And finally, after stepping out of the shower, I noticed a little patch of scruff that I had missed while shaving yesterday. With one swipe, I shaved the area and still managed to nick myself enough to bleed. Fantastic!

Let’s recap. Before 8:30am, I was wearing:

  1. Spit Up
  2. Slobber slime
  3. Pee-pee
  4. Syrup
  5. Bananas + Boogers = Banoogers
  6. Disgusting fish tank water
  7. Half sucked lozenge
  8. Blood

So, I say unto all you fathers out there living with young children – What the hell are YOU wearing today?!?!?!