Cayenne Pepper to Amoxicillin

There has to be a law SOMEWHERE that says mommas can't get sick if they have children under the age of 7.  Surely, there must be a law that says that.  I, obviously, missed the enrollment period, and therefore have forfeited said benefit. 

I say 7 because I'm fairly sure that my oldest daughter, who is currently 7, could run the house for the entire day.  I'm fairly certain that she'd even wash the dishes without being told to do so.  Of course, she might take the opportunity since Mom would be oblivious, to paint the barn a nice shade of purple, but at least she'd attempt to try to rinse the brushes out. 

Annsley and I developed strep this week.  I originally thought it was some kind of nasty, nasty flu.  I've never had strep and quite frankly, I don't ever care to again.  Annsley had a fever and threw up Tuesday night. On Wednesday morning I woke up feeling like my throat had a blow torch attached to it, Kennedi carefully analyzed the situation and realized that she was the "oldest one left standing."  She had remembered back in December when I had some stomach bug and threw up not short of 20 times in less than 24 hours that I put Annsley in charge of everyone.  (In case any of you may be having some bad thoughts about my husband not being around to take care of the kids, this week was the STAAR state mandated tests.  It wasn't an option about him skipping out.)

"Mom," Kennedi asked Wednesday morning, "am I in charge since you and Annsley are sick?"

"Yes.  I'm gonna need your help to take care of Andrei.  Can you be a big girl for me today?"

Rather elated at the thought, she replies, "Oh yes! Does that mean I'm in charge of lunch too?"

"Yes.  You'll fix you and Andrei something to eat."

"I want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I'll fix Andrei some ham, and cheese, and a banana.  Is that OK?" 

At that point I truly would not have cared if she wanted to make chicken fried steak.  I would have said yes to anything that I didn't have to do. Lunch that day couldn't have come quickly enough.  10:00 and she was already having hunger pains.  It ended up being a long 2 hours for literally all of us.  Graciously the clock read 12:00 and she began lunch.  She was absolutely so precious.  She cut some turkey up for Andrei.  Cut up his cheese, and peeled his banana for him.  She smothered peanut butter on her bread, shirt, and counter.  Licked the knife and then dipped it into the jelly.  Licked the knife again and went in for seconds on the blackberry jelly. 

I'm on the internet looking for remedies for sore throat because the salt water gargle isn't helping.  I read gargling with apple cider vinegar works wonders.  Annsley gagged.  I tried it myself.  I actually love apple cider vinegar just as a little "kick start" for your day kinda thing, but I couldn't tell it did too much for my throat.  I then read that cayenne pepper added to the vinegar will cure any sore throat.  These people said that only burned slightly when the mixture was spit out.

So I tried it. 

I didn't have any of the the dried red pepper, but we did have plenty of Tabasco sauce ready for duty.  I shook about 7 drops in the bottom of my cup.  I added about a tablespoon of my friendly apple cider vinegar and about 1/2 cup of warm water. 

#%#%!!!##! THOSE PEOPLE LIED!  Instead of one blow torch, I had the entire manufacturing plant ablaze in my mouth.  WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE??!! They can't possibly be human.  And to think that they prey on desperately sick people like me. 

Long story short, this is the sickest for the longest period of time I have ever been in my life.  IN. MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.  My body felt like one of those lawn aerators had run over my entire body.  Ibuprofen was falling short of lasting 6 hours of fever and sore throat pain.  Really, by Thursday evening, I could understand how people could choose death. Friday morning Kennedi wakes up complaining of a sore throat. 

I finally glance at my throat and count new fewer than 10 white pus pockets.  I've had enough.  I call our pediatrician and get Kennedi and Annsely in to see her.  She suspects strep.  On a whim, I have her glance at my throat.  She swabs the girls' throats, gives them Amoxicillin, and strongly encourages me to see the nurse practioner at the pharmacy while I'm getting their prescription filled.  I'm not up to arguing any more.  I'm never sick enough to go to the doctor.  I haven't been to the doctor since Kennedi was born.  At this point I'm more than ready to give up my "record" for relief. 

The PA does a strep test.  It's positive.  I get Amoxicillin too!  I've never been so excited to take an antibiotic in my entire life.  When we three finally get home, Doug wants to take one of my pills "just in case." 

NO WAY!  I've been the most miserably person for the last three days.  These are all mine.  ALL MINE! "

"Go get your own!!" I hiss with clenched teeth.

He goes back to work.  Within three hours of taking my first pill, I finally notice how nasty my kitchen floor is after being at the mercy for three days of Doug and Kennedi.  I actually sweep, mop, and wash two loads of laundry before I go to bed that night!  Doug comes home from work.  He looks like he's in severe pain. 

"Where'd you go? I need medicine!!" 

So he's got strep too.  The PA didn't do a test on him.  She just took a look at his throat and said, "Oh, yeah.  You got what your family has.  Here's some Amoxicillin for you, too!" Andrei is a rock of immunity.  He's currenly coloring with his Color Wonder markers so his daddy can sleep.

There's Hail, and then there's HAIL!

Oh my goodness! Our "little" hail storm made some serious national headlines!! This happened about 20 miles or so from where we live earlier this week. It was crazy!  I've been around hail that seriously covered the ground several inches deep, but I've never seen anything like this before!

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/texas-hail-mud-mix-drifts-were-waist-shoulder-155019237.html

Resurrection Sunday

I serve THE risen Lord! Hallelujah! My baby girl was baptized this morning by her daddy.  Kennedi was so incredibly excited; she's been counting down the days all week.  I love that about her.  She waved to the crowd; she held her nose the minute her little feet hit the steps going down into the baptistery. She answered every comment and question while still holding her nose. She was ready!

From My Husband...

  

My Favorite Animal

Our teacher asked what my favorite animal was, and I said, "Fried chicken."
She said I wasn't funny, but she couldn't have been right, because everyone else laughed.


My parents told me to always tell the truth. I did. Fried chicken is my favorite animal. I told my dad what happened, and he said my teacher was probably a member of PETA.
He said they love animals very much.

I do, too. Especially chicken, pork and beef. Anyway, my teacher sent me to the principal's office. I told him what happened, and he laughed, too. Then he told me not to do it again.

The next day in class my teacher asked me what my favorite live animal was.
I told her it was chicken. She asked me why, so I told her it was because you could make them into fried chicken.

She sent me back to the principal's office. He laughed, and told me not to do it again.

I don't understand. My parents taught me to be honest, but my teacher doesn't like it when I am.

Today, my teacher asked me to tell her what famous person I admired most. I told her, "Colonel Sanders." Guess where I am now.......

Z-Line

My husband often forgets that his comments can quickly become fodder for my blog.  Last night was no exception.  He was looking at the pictures I had posted of Andrei running his trucks all over the house and yard.

"Oh wow! Look at that Z-Line!" he said.

"What?" I asked. 

"Andrei's got perfect form.  Look at that!" 

I'm not following.  Neither am I seeing this Z-line.  Doug points to the picture and shows me his level back and as Andrei is lifting his knee, he is creating a Z. 

Oh.

"Now in this one," Doug begins critiquing, "he's in an L.  That's not good."

"Really?"  I thought he was just driving a Tonka truck.  Obviously there is more at stake.

Doug continues, "Oh, this one is perfect technique. You can't teach that."  Then, I see a funny glaze come into my husband's eyes.  "Look out Baby!  OL is coming!"

Now the light bulb is on.  Football.  Offensive Lineman.  Proud Daddy.  Ex-coach. 

Boy Toys!

My girls never, I repeat, NEVER played with trucks and cars.  And most certainly, if by slim chance a girl did pick up said vehicle, it did NOT come accompanied with "GRRRRRR!"