The Killer Cold Saga

So I have a cold. I hear it's been making it's rounds around the nation, and it's taking down men and women in their prime. It's a strain heretofore previously unknown to man, and is resistant to All The Remedies Known To Man.

So that's what I have. I'm not here to whine about it, though. I'm here to tell you what I did about it.

I didn't wake up with a cold on Monday. As I opened my eyes to turn off the alarm Monday morning, The Cold was sitting on the nightstand, waiting to pounce. It fully engulfed me, drug me down and alligator rolled me. I have not come up for air yet. I think I may be dying, but I'm not quite sure yet. I'll get back with you on that. If I survive.

I felt so awful, that I took cold medication. This is huge. I never think to take medication until I have something for a solid 2 days, and then I'm all, "Hey! Some genius made something to help this! I should take it." This cold was so bad, that I took DayQuil right up front. Before breakfast.

I followed up the DayQuil with honey, cinnamon, Mucinex D, Alka Seltzer Cold Plus, hot tea that was hot enough to instantly burn and numb my throat, and texted a friend to see what else I should do. She's smart. She knows things. She recommended whiskey.

Here's the thing. We're a dry home. We're not opposed to alcohol, we just don't ever have any here. Ever. Except the vodka.

I have attended BlogPaws pet conference for 2 years. Each attendee is given a ginormously large bag filled with bountiful swag. It is all for the dog, and it's super fun. And in that ginormously large bag of dog swag, is also a tiny sample bottle of vodka. I know. I thought it was out of place, too. Dogs do not drive us to drink.

I make a scalding hot cup of peach tea, added a tablespoon of honey, and a third of that bottle of vodka. (Remember, it is a sample size. It's tiny.) I drank that cup of tea, chased it with NyQuil, and couldn't wait to sleep like the dead. Maybe I was dead. It's hard to tell. I feel like death, at least. Is this what a zombie feels like? I'm guessing. I'm far more congested than I've seen zombies in movies, though. They don't seem to suffer severe congestion. Zombies are better off than I am, so there's that.

I woke every hour. Sleep and I were not BFFs. I was disappointed.

The next night, I used more vodka, because that was clearly the problem. Not enough alcohol in my system. If I woke with a hangover (from a third of an ounce of vodka) so be it. I needed sleep, and relief from symptoms. I'd settle for breathing, even. Breathing is beautiful.

I laid in bed playing Candy Crush until 1:00am because I couldn't fall asleep.  I was wide awake. My eyes were watering so badly I could hardly see to swap out the candy, yet they just wouldn't close and let me forget that I was suffering.

This morning I turned to Dr. Google. He's always helpful in situations like this. He told me that while many people take a glass of wine in the evening to unwind and relax, it sometimes has the opposite effect, making them night owls. So there you go. No more vodka for me.

I did contemplate, however, having the last of the bottle in my scalding hot coffee for breakfast. I needed something to keep me wide awake to power through the day.

Tonight, I am going to bed with NyQuil. The symptoms are much better (I am crediting Umcka), but am suffering in other ways. The constant nose blowing has made me look like Rudolph. My nose is not only bright red, but sore and chapped. I also have a large zit on my chin. Like having a killer cold isn't enough, I get to suffer with adult acne, too. I have Vaseline rubbed on my nose, and honey on my zit. Occasionally I'll stuff a kleenex up a nostril to keep the inside gunk from running down my face.

Our Valentine's Day was a little less than romantic, in case you're wondering.

The Next Michael Jackson Trend Has Started

Micah has been acting out movies most of his life. He's getting quite a flair for the dramatic, and can imitate every dance scene in every movie he's ever watched. He also knows every movie line from well over 2 dozen movies. He has his favorite characters in each one, and identifies himself as this person. He assigns roles to others that he likes. His friends are other characters, his siblings sometimes get to be in his reenactments (in his mind; not really reenacting with him) and very, very rarely will the good old parents ever get featured in his imaginative play scenes.

He started wearing gloves to act out these movies. I'm not sure what spurred this trend, or why he does it, but it's a standard thing with him now. He waves his gloved hands in sweeping gestures, narrating whatever movie he's remembering line for line.

This glove thing has become a small problem. The boy has about 5 pair of gloves, because he tends to not put them away and we lose them. I get the stretchy one-size-fits-most for him, and he prefers the ones with the skeleton hands printed on the back. All 5ish of those pairs were misplaced before December. We were at my parents' cabin at Thanksgiving, and Micah stole my dad's work gloves. They're the super cheap jersey knit type. We figured since Micah liked those, we'd buy him 2 bulk packs. It would take him a while to work his way through 20 pair of gloves, right?

He refused to wear them. Pap's pair was far superior to new gloves. We gave one pack to Pap to make up for the one pair Micah stole.

As we randomly stumble across a pair of Micah's misplaced gloves, we'll put them back in his bin. Despite the fact that he has more gloves than the rest of the large family put together, he has taken to stealing our gloves. There's no answer as to why, but the frustration among family members is rather high over this. The worst part is that he will only wear one glove, most of the time, leaving everyone's glove bin with right hand gloves only, because he takes all the left hand ones.

The boy kicked it up a notch over the holidays when we were at the in-laws for a New Year's party. Micah went home with the right glove of a guest. It was a gorgeous leather one that was very out of place at our home of jersey knits and fleeces. It was returned a few days later, of course.

His new favorite glove is a stretched out and faded jersey work glove,with a ginormous hole in the palm. He wears it on his left hand everywhere he goes. It has taken the place of Woody. The glove goes to school, church, anywhere Micah goes. I think, someday, I'll miss this stage. It's kinda cute.


We're Back to Magical Hair Cuts

Micah asked to have his hair cut last evening. I want to point out that it was 10:00 pm, we just got home from the grandparents' house, and he was overdue for sleep. This, of course, means that he was looking for any excuse to get out of going to bed that he could.

This request for a haircut was accompanied by a photo, which made it worse, because he wasn't just trying to get out of bed, he also had something specific in mind. When Micah has something specific in mind, he doesn't let go of that idea until he sees it come to reality.

He showed us a saved photo of Willy Wonka.

This is a problem.

Micah's last hair cut was a request to look like Woody, who is pretty much shaved bald. That was just 3 months ago. While my kids possess super powers of growing hair, super powers don't produce miraculous results; just great results.

We managed to wrestle the boy to bed and avoid the hair cutting topic for the evening, but we also knew that he wouldn't forget because that boy doesn't ever forget anything. (Except, on occasion, where he placed Woody or his iPad.)

Sure enough, first thing this morning, he asked for a hair cut, and showed me the photo of Willy Wonka's long and glorious mane.

Nuts.

Micah doesn't grasp concepts that are not concrete. He's working on it, but it's a struggle. To say that clippers don't make hair longer is not something he knows. He just knows that clippers fix your hair when you want it fixed, because that's been his experience. I attempted anyway, because it's what you do as a human. You keep trying.

"Micah, I can't make your hair longer. I can only make it shorter. Cutting your hair (accompanied with fingers pretending to scissor through my hair) makes it smaller (with fingers pretending to measure something small), not bigger (with fingers pretending to measure something large)."

Micah thought for a while, and turned to his iPad. I may or may not have gotten through, but the fact that he stopped requesting a Willy Wonka "cut" was good, at least.

I went about my morning chores, while Micah played with his iPad. I was thinking that I kind of won an easy battle in the face of what looked like a 3-week war, when he showed me a new photo.

Shrek! (Accompanied by Micah's fingers making the cutting motion in his hair.)



WELL THEN.

I mean, I can definitely do that hair cut. Kind of. I'm not going to razor him because my history with hair and scissors would inevitably end up with many nicks and deep cuts on his scalp, which would have him covered in band aids, which he hates and won't wear, and he'd bleed and scab over and look awful and I'd be turned over to Child Welfare Services and have my kids, and probably even the dogs, confiscated, and all my scissors taken, and then I couldn't sew anymore because I wouldn't have scissors, and I'd be penniless because I wouldn't' have a job, nor would I have kids or dogs, and my life would be so awful.

Yeh, I'm not shaving my son's head to look like Shrek. I stand a lot to lose.

But on the bright side, Micah won a major victory today in the Understanding Concepts category. I was able to make him understand that I can't make hair longer, and he was able to correlate that to long hair vs short hair, and make appropriate decisions with this new information.

My mama heart is bursting with pride, even if my kid will be basically bald by the end of the day. It's just hair, after all. Hair grows back, but understanding is a lifelong accomplishment.