Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Super-sized Nebulizer

Being sick with three sick kids and no husband in sight can play funny tricks on a mom's mind. For example, thinking about a super-sized nebulizer for mommy. I got the idea from one fourth of the sickies confined within Davis contaminated quarters. This would be Laura, three-year-old chesty-cough-sickie; the one who has to have a nebulizer treatment every four hours. As I observed the cool, soothing mist inside her little "elephant mask," I was sort of mesmerized.

This is how the Super-sized Nebulizer works: First, a doctor who resembles Bradley Cooper personally delivers your SSN (not Social Security Number--Super-sized Nebulizer) to your front door free of charge; no need to mess with insurance cards, (which probably wouldn't cover it any way). Next, you take your hassle-free, no assembly required nebulizer and place the sparkly pink mask over your nose and mouth...on second thought...over your entire face. I forgot that the SSN doubles as a built in facial. Instantly, a soothing mist covers your face and you experience a sensation close to the affects of laughing gas, but better, because you can still function, and don't say things you'll regret later. To your satisfaction, not only is your cough instantly eliminated, a crew of about ten people pop into your living room. Five of them begin to vigorously clean the house (covered in a film of the snot of four out of four sick persons). Three crew members in Elmo costumes each take a kid--feed, diaper & talk to them incessantly in that squeaky Elmo voice, but only so the kids can hear (kind of like a dog whistle). The remaining crew splits the tasks of laundry, cooking & what the hay--sending out for Starbucks, Panera and some trendy Pier One stuff for the house.

Uh-oh, what's this? My mist is retreating, the crew members are being sucked back through the SSN! My kids are crying, I'm coughing until tears stream down my cheeks, my house looks like a giant blew his nose on it. No sooner does a knock come at the door. "I'm here to pick-up your Super-sized Nebulizer Mrs. Davis." I open the door expecting Dr. Bradley Cooper, but instead are facing a combo of Carrot Top and Donald Trump. Ew. "Sorry maam," Carrot-Trump says, "The SSN has been recalled. Apparently it causes major delusions."

Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

This and That

After a typical full day of chasing twins and toddler, my friend Tanya and I spent some quality time kickin' back on the couch (or in my case comatosin' on the couch). We got to talking about all the things that mom's say they will never do before the sperm ever hits the egg. You know; the whole, "I'll never let them do "this" and I'll only let them do "that" schpeel. The next day while I sat idly by watching my twins eat cheerios off the kitchen floor, the remembrance of my list of the "this" and "that" I would never do as a mother had me in hysterics. Here is my top five this and that list:

1. This: I will never allow my children to eat things that have touched the floor, not even the 5- second-rule.

That: The 5-second-rule is now--uh--well, "Baby, is that a raisin in your mouth? I don't remember you having raisins today or last week, or--oh."

2. This: I will never allow my children to watch prolonged sessions of television.

That: Oh my gosh YES! Nick's having a Dora marathon! Hey Dora doesn't hurt anyone--no not even for 8 hours, I don't care what scientists say. There are worse things a three year old can mimic than "vamanos!"

3. This: My home will be totally childproof.

That: "Oh my gosh Julia, don't put your fingers in that fan," "How did that electric outlet get exposed?" "Elizabeth where on earth did you get cleaning supplies?" "Laura screw drivers are not for tickling sisssies."

4. This: I will feed my kids all healthy food, no processed stuff.

That: Corn dogs, fish sticks and mac-n-cheese are my BEST friends.

5. This: I will not punish my child in public because I won't need to

That: Seriously? Now that's just silly.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Cowgirl Gillian Saves the Night (or at least tries)

"Cowboy Dan is coming," Steve Martin (Gill) confidently assures his son, "He's coming!" Ah, the movie Parenthood. I loved it pre-kids, love it even more post-kids. If you're parent and haven't seen it--see it.

Steve Martin's ever-neurotic, but well intentioned "Gill," father of three, is constantly attempting to stay one step ahead of his kids, particularly his eldest and emotionally sensitive son. If Gill can control all environmental factors posing threat to high strung "Kevin," then perhaps he can stave off Kevin's volcanic eruption sized emotional breakdowns. Gill goes as far as taking on the part of "Cowboy Gill," after an unfortunate mix-up that resulted in Cowboy Dan's no show to Kevin's ninth birthday. If Cowboy Dan couldn't make it, by golly Cowboy Gill in his green bathroom rug chaps, $1 gold sheriff badge and straw hat would. Gill goes as far as to shoot water guns at Kevin and his pals in the backyard from the rooftop.

It got me thinking; as parents, aren't we all Cowboy Gills or Cowgirl Gillians? Like over-caffeinated monkeys we jump up and down at kid photo sessions just to get a smile, turn plastic baby spoons into zooming airplanes, transform pillows and blankets into princess castles and troll fortresses...all to please the masses, and sometimes to keep from meltdowns of some sort or another.

Lately, I have been moonlighting as Cowgirl Gillian. To ward off the volcanic eruptions of my three-year-old and to assure some measure of sleep for my own cowgirl self, I desparately try to transform objects and bedrooms from scary monsters and creepies, to magic "boots" and dazzling castles. I even introduced a " magic night time turtle" (with help from Grandma Kim) with the hopes that the stars and moons projected on the ceiling would serve as added meltdown imobilizers. But alas, at 1:30a.m., "TURTLE! TURTLE!" (in three-year-old screech). Fully expecting to find the turtle levitating in on the ceiling, I transformed from sleeping mommy to cowgirl Gillian and busted into Laura's room--at the ready to cast anti-levitating turtle spells. In an anticlimactic ending, the turtle's light had automatically shut off after a period of time, ceasing to project its soothing constellations (bleepin turtle!). Cowgirl Gillian spent the next hour trying to lasso toddler angst and fear from the room, simultaneously praying that bleepin' turtle would just stay on until morning.

To all you cowboys and cowgirls--git yerself a cowboy hat, and have yer bathroom rugs at the ready. We in for a long riiiiddddeeee! A yipee-ky-yay a yipee-ky-yo!