January 13, 2011

• Contrary to all appearances, I'm still keeping my journal -- just not coherently enough to share.  I'm not going to bother with turning those fragments into complete sentences; instead, a recap:

  Gastroenteritis.  I can't quite spell it without help, but it's the Word of the Month in our house.  It's more commonly referred to as The Stomach Flu, which isn't really the 'flu at all.  (Flu = fever, aches, pain.  "Stomach flu" = vomiting and diarrhea.)  I can spell diarrhea now -- I can spell it with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back.

  The majority of us experienced gastroenteritis mid-December.  Mari, Bri, Wilson, Kendric, Kirby, and Logan.  Most of them were over it within 24 hours.  Not Logan.  Finally, on Christmas Day, when he couldn't keep down his Pedialyte and showed only vague interest in his Christmas gifts (and excused himself to use the bathroom and Myra found him sleeping next to the toilet and his lips were turning blue and...), we brought him to the hospital for IV fluids:
  
  When it just wouldn't stop (a week and a half later), the doctors prescribed some high-powered anti nausea medication -- the stuff they give to chemo patients.  (We checked with our natural-remedy-friendly doctor friend in Montana; she said she would have done the same thing.)

  Apparently his digestive system was horribly irritated and is taking a long time to recover. We're keeping a journal of what he eats / when he eliminates to see if there is some particular thing that aggravates his diarrhea -- perhaps he's developed some sort of allergy / sensitivity to ... something.  Mostly, now, I'm just trying to fatten him up. He's being a stinker about eating (doggone it, kid, you WILL eat that white chicken chili, I don't care if it looks like poo), but at least he's done with the vomiting.

  Kirby brought him in for a follow-up on Monday and asked to take him off the prescription.  The doctor agreed to let him try a placebo, so every night, Logan gets half a piece of Pez candy.  So far, so good.  Ha.

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  Morning is my favorite time of day.  Mostly because it's the only time of day Wilson is still enough to cuddle with me.  He climbs into my bed, snuggles under the warm blankets, and begins the day with quiet conversation.  With a flashlight (the sun), my clenched fist (the earth) and the ceiling light fixture (the moon), I explain things like the recent lunar eclipse...  He tells me about his daily observations -- about life, the universe, everything.  The house is quiet so I don't laugh out loud, but trust me, I'm guffawing inside.  ...  "I spy something... white!"  (Ha.  By the dawn's early light, pretty much everything is white or black or grey.)  ...  And after a brief silence, he squirms and asks me to scratch his back.  ...  I love that kid.  

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  Motherhood changes people.  It changes dogs, too.  I didn't particularly despise Wendy before, but I didn't particularly love her either.  Now that she has puppies, the changes in her behavior have rather endeared her to me.

  Yep, we have puppies.  Two of them.  Three weeks old.  Their eyes are open, they're starting to walk around, and their teeth are threatening to make appearance any day now.  They both look like their mother, but her lab traits are more apparent in the female (Abba), and the rottweiler traits are more apparent in the male (Dug):
  

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  I've been crocheting like a crazy woman: hats and mittens for the kids, hats for Christmas gifts, hats for friends at church...  A friend of a friend has offered to sell my stuff for me; we'll see how that goes.  I think the market is saturated at Etsy.com, but I opened a shop for the fun of it -- mostly 'cause I fell all clever about my name: A Spool Full of Sugar.

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  In other news, I spent the day updating Kirby's resume.  *sigh*  Layoffs.  Again.  Who knows, maybe Kirby will find a job closer to home?  We'll see.  In the meantime, we have meat in the freezer, wood in the shed, food in the pantry, and God still knows what He's doing...

  • 12:12 am
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