Cookie Time

Three days ago, I awoke from a night filled with dreams about vacuuming. In my dream, I vacuumed behind my sofa. I vacuumed behind my dresser. I vacuumed behind my washer and dryer. I guess you could call it a fantasy, really. As I dragged myself out of bed to attend to the child who was calling out to me, beckoning for a wipe, I thought to myself, "This New York trip can't come fast enough."

On Tuesday, Joe and I are headed to New York City. Alone. For a week. I don't know how I'm going to be able to make it a week without seeing my babies, because the couple of times I've been away from them for one night have seemed like an eternity, but it will be so much fun to have my husband all to myself for a week.

In preparation for our trip, my mother flew here this morning so she could learn the routine, then take care of our boys for the week. This morning, we finished cleaning the house, dressed the boys, spit-shined their faces, and piled them in the car for the hour and twenty minute drive to the Tupelo airport. We got there, got the kids out of the car, and excitedly told them that they were about to see Cookie. As we entered the empty one-room terminal, we started to get suspicious. A quick check on the arrivals board and a phone call to my mother confirmed our suspicions. Wrong airport.

I'd tell you how it this mix-up happened, but you'd die of boredom, and then you wouldn't be able to read my weblog anymore. Suffice it to say, we had another hour and ten minutes to travel, ironically, to the airport in the town where we actually live.

As soon as we were reunited and we fed our hungry faces, we began a delightful afternoon together. There was exchanging of gifts, playing with toys, napping, cider-sipping, and story-reading. One of the fun things Cookie brought was a book from my childhood, Curious George Visits the Zoo. Here's the cover:


And here's a picture of George and The Man With the Yellow Hat walking around the zoo:


And here's a picture of some people having a picnic on the grass at the zoo:


Wait a minute, having a picnic AND SMOKING A CIGARETTE:


Who backed this book? Phillip Morris? I'm no Pollyanna, but I really don't want to know what's in Leroy's blue solo cup. Or why he has bare feet. Or if he's friends with Charles Manson.

Anyway, off we go to the Big Apple, and I'm sure Cookie will have some stories to share when we get back. Let's all hope they don't tie her up and burn her at the stake.

Curious George Eats a Nickel

This morning, things had gotten far too dull for my liking by 7:55. So while I got ready to go to the gym, I set up a little play time for my boys on the floor in my bedroom. I surrounded them with a box of matches, an open bottle of bleach, a hair dryer plugged into the wall next to a bucket of water, an assault rifle, and two nickels and a penny, encircled by a ring of thumb tacks, pointy side up.* What's George going to do, eat the coins? I asked myself.

Sure enough, George started playing with those coins, and by golly, what do you think I heard? Gagging and coughing, that's what. I ran to him in a panic, looked in his mouth, and saw a silvery glint for a split second before it went down his tiny gullet.

He started fussing, and given the fact that I couldn't get it out at this point, I gave him a sippy cup of milk to help him wash it down while I called Poison Control. Christy at Poison Control was very helpful and asked me a bunch of questions. After she was sure he wasn't in need of an ambulance, she asked me The Question.

The Question is the part of the Poison Control experience I hate the most. You know, besides the fact that one of my children has ingested something that is potentially harmful. To me, The Question a huge test of character, and I'm tempted to lie through my teeth every time. The Question is: "What is your name and phone number?" "Laura *********, 597-****," I told her, reluctantly. But really, I wanted to give her the name of someone else. Someone I'm not crazy about.

At the end of our phone call, after she told me to go have his abdomen x-rayed, she warned me, "I'm going to call this afternoon and follow up to see how George is doing. Your number IS 597-****, correct?" There was a slight accusatory hint in her voice. Perhaps I'm not the only one who's ever been tempted to respond to The Question with a lie. I was so happy to have done the right thing by telling her the truth. I really nailed it this time!

Since George seemed okay for the moment, I made a little time for some hygiene. Remember, I was dressed for the gym, and since the ER is usually full of scuzzy types, I try to look my best when we go, if possible. So while the kids played with their flame thrower*, I had a good soak in the tub, groomed my eyebrows, played around with some microdermabrasion, gave myself a mani/pedi, did a little spray tan, and away we went.**

The minute I stepped into the ER, I instantly felt at home. I've become fully aquainted with all of the staff there since we moved here in March. I think I could have breezed past the front desk, poured myself a cup of coffee at the nurses' station, sat down with my feet propped up on the table, and nobody would have batted an eyelash. They simply would have said, "Hey Laura! Is it Luke or George this time?" But instead, I just signed in like a normal person. When in Rome.

We were seen relatively quickly. George laid down for his x-ray without a fight, with this "Who, me? I didn't eat money!" look on his face. The doctor came in a few minutes later and showed me the x-ray, with a bold white circle right in the middle of his belly. That was a relief to see. The doctor said it could cause problems if it had gotten stuck in his esophagus, or in either of his lungs. Whew! He gave me some symptoms to look out for in the coming days that would indicate an intestinal blockage, but said that a blockage is unlikely.

"Yes, I think he should be making change within a week or so," he said. Emergency room doctor humor--it's a gas! I bet he has a mental list of those canned jokes for every emergency room scenario.

I can't wait to see the look on the babysitter's face Saturday night when I tell her to scan his diapers for buried treasure. And looking on the bright side of things, whenever we find that nickel, it will give me a pressing reason to finally pull out his baby book and make an entry a deposit. Get it! A deposit!

I think now would be a good time to stop writing.

* I didn't really set all those things up. I was using hyperbole. You know, the literary convention. I was using it to exaggerate my parental negligence. Really, I was letting my kids play in my room, and I noticed that there was 11 cents on the floor, but I didn't think George would eat it. But saying it that way isn't very interesting, now is it?

** I just quickly applied some makeup and put on a dress. And deodorant. Again with the hyperbole.